"Well, when you think you've got hold of a genius, and you take him up
and stake your reputation on him--and all the time you can't be sure
whether it's a spark of the divine fire or a mere flash in the pan. It
happens over and over again. The burnt critic dreads the divine fire."

His eyes were fixed on the title page as if fascinated by the words,
_Helen in Leuce_.

"But this is not bad--it's _not_ bad for two and twenty."

"Only two and twenty?"

"That's all. It looks as if he were made for immortality."

She turned to him that ardent gaze which made the hot day hotter.

"Dear Horace, you're going to do great things for him."

The worst of having a cousin who adores you is that magnificence is
expected of you, regularly and as a matter of course. He was not even
sure that Lucia did not credit him with power to work miracles. The
idea was flattering but also somewhat inconvenient.

"I don't know about great things. I should like to do something. The
question is what. He's a little unfortunate in--in his surroundings,
and he's been ill, poor fellow. If one could give him a change. If one
were only rich and could afford to send him abroad for a year. I _had_
thought of asking him down to Oxford."