possessed some facility, he decided that he was a poet, and at once
started an epic poem in rhyme on the Life of Nelson, the material
being supplied by Southey. This morning he did the Battle of the
Baltic.

He put the glass to his blind eye,
And said "No signals do I spy,"

wrote Paul. Poetry taken at the gallop like this was a very simple
affair, and Paul covered an amazing amount of ground.

In the afternoon he walked abroad with Jane, who, having lengthened
her skirts and put up her hair, was now a young woman looking older
than her years. She too had developed. Her lank figure had rounded
into pretty curves. Her sharp little Cockney face had filled out.
She had a pleasant smile and a capable brow, and, correcting a
tendency to fluffiness of hair of which she disapproved, and
dressing herself neatly, made herself by no means unattractive.
Constant association with Paul had fired her ambitions. Like him,
she might have a destiny, though not such a majestic one,
Accordingly she had studied stenography and typewriting, with a view
to earning her livelihood away from the little shop, which did not
offer the prospect of a dazzling career. At the back of her girlish
mind was the desire to keep pace with Paul in his upward flight, so
that he should not be ashamed of her when he sat upon the clouds in
glory. In awful secrecy she practised the social accomplishments
which Paul brought home. She loved her Saturday and Sunday
excursions with Paul--of late they had gone far afield: the Tower,
Greenwich, Ricmond--exploring London and making splendid
discoveries such as Westminster Abbey and a fourpenny tea garden at