he? What is he?--Why, that is Hopkins, the poet.--Hopkins, the poet!
Let me see him! Let me see him! Hopkins? What! Gifted Hopkins? etc.,
etc.

Gifted Hopkins did not hear these words except in fancy, but he did
unquestionably find a considerable number of eyes concentrated upon him,
which he very naturally interpreted as an evidence that he had already
begun to enjoy a foretaste of the fame of which he should hereafter have
his full allowance. Some seemed to be glancing furtively, some appeared
as if they wished to speak, and all the time the number of those looking
at him seemed to be increasing. A vision came through his fancy of
himself as standing on a platform, and having persons who wished to look
upon him and shake hands with him presented, as he had heard was the way
with great people when going about the country. But this was only a
suggestion, and by no means a serious thought, for that would have
implied infatuation.

Gifted Hopkins was quite right in believing that he attracted many eyes.
At last those of Myrtle Hazard were called to him, and she perceived that
an accident was making him unenviably conspicuous. The bow of his rather
large white neck-tie had slid round and got beneath his left ear. A not
very good-natured or well-bred young fellow had pointed out the subject
of this slight misfortune to one or two others of not much better taste
or breeding, and thus the unusual attention the youthful poet was
receiving explained itself. Myrtle no sooner saw the little accident of
which her rural friend was the victim than she left her place in the
dance with a simple courage which did her credit.

"I want to speak to you a minute," she said. "Come into this alcove."