"Intensely interesting; but he will never be able to complete it. A
man may be full of talent and yet be nothing of an artist; a man may
be far less clever than Norton, and with a subtler artistic sense. If
a seal had really something to say, I believe it would find a way of
saying it; but has John Norton really got any idea so overwhelmingly
new and personal that it would force a way of utterance where none
existed? The Christian creed with its tale of Mary must be of all
creeds most antipathetic to his natural instincts, he nevertheless
accepts it.... If you agitate a pool from different sides you must
stir up mud, and this is what occurs in Norton's brain; it is
agitated equally from different sides, and the result is mud."

Mike looked at Harding inquiringly, for a moment wondered if the
novelist understood him as he seemed to understand Norton.

A knock was heard, and Norton entered. His popularity was visible in
the pleasant smiles and words which greeted him.

"You are just the man we want," cried Frank. "We want to publish one
of your poems in the paper this week."

"I have burnt my poems," he answered, with something more of
sacerdotal tone and gesture than usual.

All the scribblers looked up. "You don't mean to say seriously that
you have burnt your poems?"

"Yes; but I do not care to discuss my reasons. You do not feel as I
do."