"Yes; but we break our marches! I can't tell you what a pleasure it in for me to find myself here," I added. "I have the greatest admiration for Mr. Ambient."
"He will like that. He likes being admired."
"He must have a very happy life, then. He has many worshippers."
"Oh, yes, I have seen some of them," said Mrs. Ambient, looking away, very far from me, rather as if such a vision were before her at tho moment. Something in her tone seemed to indicate that the vision was scarcely edifying, and I guessed very quickly that she was not in sympathy with the author of Beltraffio. I thought the fact strange, but, somehow, in the glow of my own enthusiasm, I did n't think it important; it only made me wish to be rather explicit about that enthusiasm.
"For me, you know," I remarked, "he is quite the greatest of living writers."
"Of course I can't judge. Of course he's very clever," said Mrs. Ambient, smiling a little.
"He's magnificent, Mrs. Ambient! There are pages in each of his books that have a perfection that classes them with the greatest things. Therefore, for me to see him in this familiar way,—in his habit as he lives,—and to find, apparently, the man as delightful as the artist, I can't tell you how much too good to be true it seems, and how great a privilege I think it." I know that I was gushing, but I could n't help it, and what I said was a good deal less than what I felt. I was by no means sure that I
