Rothenstein objected that absence of title might be bad for the
sale of a book. `If,' he urged, `I went into a bookseller's and
said simply "Have you got?" or "Have you a copy of?" how
would they know what I wanted?'

`Oh, of course I should have my name on the cover,' Soames
answered earnestly. `And I rather want,' he added, looking hard
at Rothenstein, `to have a drawing of myself as frontispiece.'
Rothenstein admitted that this was a capital idea, and mentioned
that he was going into the country and would be there for some
time. He then looked at his watch, exclaimed at the hour, paid
the waiter, and went away with me to dinner. Soames remained
at his post of fidelity to the glaucous witch.

`Why were you so determined not to draw him?' I asked.

`Draw him? Him? How can one draw a man who doesn't
exist?'

`He is dim,' I admitted. But my mot juste fell flat. Rothenstein
repeated that Soames was non-existent.

Still, Soames had written a book. I asked if Rothenstein had
read `Negations.' He said he had looked into it, `but,' he added
crisply, `I don't profess to know anything about writing.' A
reservation very characteristic of the period! Painters would not
then allow that any one outside their own order had a right to
any opinion about painting. This law (graven on the tablets
brought down by Whistler from the summit of Fujiyama)