"Do you remember that wonderful phrase ----" and he rattled it off.
"Magnificent, is it not?"

"Magnificent," I said, remembering an appointment instead. "Well,
I must be getting on. Good-bye." And, as I walked off, I patted my
forehead with my handkerchief and wondered why the day had grown so
warm suddenly.

However the next day was even warmer. Henri came to see me with a
book under his arm. We all have one special book of our own which we
recommend to our acquaintances, regarding the love of it as perhaps
the best passport to our friendship. This was Henri's. He was about
to test me. I had read and admired his favourite VAURELLES--in the
original French. Would I love his daring LAFORGUE? My reputation as
a man, as a writer, as a critic, depended on it. He handed me the
book--in French.

"It is all there," he said reverently, as he gave it to me. "All your
English masters, they all come from him. Perhaps, most of all your
---- But you shall tell me when you have read it. You shall tell me
whom most you seem to see there. Your MEREDITH? Your SHAW? Your ----
But you shall tell me."

"I will tell you," I said faintly.

And I've got to tell him.

Don't think that I shall have any difficulty in reading the book.
Glancing through it just now I came across this:--