"That's a good idea," said he. "Tell me how you came to think of it. And, I say, have you had any tea? They've just sent out for mine."
He rang a tingly bell, and the boy brought in a tray with a teapot and a thick cup and saucer and things, and he had to fetch another tray for us, when he was told to; and we had tea with the Editor of the Daily Recorder. I suppose it was a very proud moment for Noël, though I did not think of that till afterwards. The Editor asked us a lot of questions, and we told him a good deal, though of course I did not tell a stranger all our reasons for thinking that the family fortunes wanted restoring. We stayed about half an hour, and when we were going away he said again—
"I shall print all your poems, my poet; and now what do you think they're worth?"
"I don't know," Noël said. "You see I didn't write them to sell."
"'Why did you write them then?" he asked.
Noël said he didn't know; he supposed because he wanted to.
"Art for Art's sake, eh?" said the Editor, and he seemed quite delighted, as though Noël had said something clever.
