Here he stopped unsure.

"You mean to fame, and honor, and riches, don't you, Walter?" ventured
Molly.

"No--not riches. Did you ever hear of a poet and riches in the same
breath?"

"Oh, yes, I have!--though somehow they don't seem to go together
comfortably. If a poet is rich, he ought to show he couldn't help it."

"Suppose he was made a lord, where would he then be without money?"

"If to be a lord one must be rich, he ought never to wish to be a lord.
But you do not want to be either lord or millionaire, Walter, do you?"

"I hope I know better!"

"Where does the way you speak of lead then, Walter? To fame?"

"If it did, what would you have to say against it? Even Milton calls it
'That last infirmity of noble mind!'"

"But he calls it an infirmity, and such a bad infirmity, apparently,
that it is the hardest of all to get rid of!"

The fact was that Walter wanted to be--thought he was a poet, but was
far from certain--feared indeed it might not be so, therefore desired
greatly the verdict of men in his favor, if but for his own
satisfaction. Fame was precious to him as determining, he thought, his