beauty and attraction of life he saw her. He was possessed by her,
almost as some are possessed by evil spirits. And to be possessed, even
by a human being, may be to take refuge in the tombs, there to cry, and
cut one's self with fierce thoughts.

But not yet was Walter troubled. He lived in love's eternal present, and
did not look forward. Even jealousy had not yet begun to show itself in
any shape. He was not in Lady Lufa's set, and therefore not much drawn
to conjecture what might be going on. In the glamour of literary
ambition, he took for granted that Lady Lufa allotted his world a higher
orbit than that of her social life, and prized most the pleasures they
had in common, which so few were capable of sharing.

She had indeed in her own circle never found one who knew more of the
refinements of verse than a school-girl does of Beethoven; and it was a
great satisfaction to her to know one who not merely recognized her
proficiency, but could guide her further into the depths of an art which
every one thinks he understands, and only one here and there does. It
was therefore a real welcome she was able to give him when they met, as
they did again and again during the season. How much she cared for him,
how much she would have been glad to do for him, my reader shall judge
for himself. I think she cared for him very nearly as much as for a
dress made to her liking. An injustice from him would have brought the
tears into her eyes. A poem he disapproved of she would have thrown,
aside, _perhaps_ into the fire.

She did not, however, submit much of her work to his judgment. She was
afraid of what might put her out of heart with it. Before making his
acquaintance, she had a fresh volume, a more ambitious one, well on its
way, but fearing lack of his praise, had said nothing to him about it.