The tone of the question was singularly flattering to our hero, who felt
it to imply the great man's now perceiving he had for years missed
something. "Partly, I suppose, because there has been no particular
reason why you should see me. I haven't lived in the world--in your
world. I've spent many years out of England, in different places
abroad."

"Well, please don't do it any more. You must do England--there's such a
lot of it."

"Do you mean I must write about it?" and Paul struck the note of the
listening candour of a child.

"Of course you must. And tremendously well, do you mind? That takes off
a little of my esteem for this thing of yours--that it goes on abroad.
Hang 'abroad!' Stay at home and do things here--do subjects we can
measure."

"I'll do whatever you tell me," Overt said, deeply attentive. "But
pardon me if I say I don't understand how you've been reading my book,"
he added. "I've had you before me all the afternoon, first in that long
walk, then at tea on the lawn, till we went to dress for dinner, and all
the evening at dinner and in this place."

St. George turned his face about with a smile. "I gave it but a quarter
of an hour."

"A quarter of an hour's immense, but I don't understand where you put it
in. In the drawing-room after dinner you weren't reading--you were