"Not to me," said Marian Fancourt, with her clear eyes. "That wouldn't be right, would it?" she asked, seriously.
"Not particularly; so I am glad he doesn't mention her to you. To praise her might bore you, and he has no business to do anything else. Yet he knows you better than me."
"Ah, but he respects you!" the girl exclaimed, enviously.
Her visitor stared a moment; then he broke into a laugh. "Doesn't he respect you?"
"Of course, but not in the same way. He respects what you've done—he told me so, the other day."
"When you went to look at types?"
"Ah, we found so many—he has such an observation of them! He talked a great deal about your book. He says it's really important."
"Important! Ah! the grand creature," Paul murmured, hilarious.
"He was wonderfully amusing, he was inexpressibly droll, while we walked about. He sees everything; he has so many comparisons, and they are always exactly right. C'est d'un trouvé! as they say."
"Yes, with his gifts, such things as he ought to have done!" Paul Overt remarked.
"And don't you think he has done them?"
He hesitated a moment. "A part of them—and of course even that part is immense. But he might have been one of the greatest! However, let us not make this an hour of qualifications. Even as they stand, his writings are a mine of gold."
To this proposition Marian Fancourt ardently responded, and for half an hour the pair talked over the master's principal productions. She knew them well—