from the classics, Greek, English, and Latin. "A very poor testimony,
one which he won't thank me for," I muttered, and stopped before St.
Clement Danes to think what kind of letter he would write to me. But he
did not even acknowledge through his secretary the copy I sent to him,
and I accepted the rebuff without resentment, arguing that the fault
was mine. "The proofs should have been submitted to him, but the
printers were calling for them! There's no going back; the mischief is
done," and I waited, putting my trust in time, which blots out all
unfortunate things, "even dedications," I said.

Three months later, on opening my door one day, I found him standing
with a common friend on the landing. I remember wondering what his
reason was for bringing the friend, whether he had come as a sort of
chaperon or witness. He left us after a few minutes, and I sat
watching the great man of my imagination, asking myself if he were
going to speak of "Spring Days," hoping that he would avoid the
painful subject. The plot and the characters of my new book might
please him. If he would only allow me to speak about it he might be
persuaded to accept a second dedication as some atonement for the
first.

"You were kind enough to dedicate your novel---"

"'Spring Days'?"

"Yes, 'Spring Days.' I know that you wished to pay me a compliment,
and if I didn't write before it was because----"

"Was it so very bad?"