The Master wondered. "After my wife's death?"

"When this idea came to you."

"Ah never, never! I wanted to save you, rare and precious as you are."

Poor Overt looked hard at him. "Are you marrying Miss Fancourt to save
me?"

"Not absolutely, but it adds to the pleasure. I shall be the making of
you," St. George smiled. "I was greatly struck, after our talk, with the
brave devoted way you quitted the country, and still more perhaps with
your force of character in remaining abroad. You're very strong--you're
wonderfully strong."

Paul tried to sound his shining eyes; the strange thing was that he
seemed sincere--not a mocking fiend. He turned away, and as he did so
heard the Master say something about his giving them all the proof, being
the joy of his old age. He faced him again, taking another look. "Do
you mean to say you've stopped writing?"

"My dear fellow, of course I have. It's too late. Didn't I tell you?"

"I can't believe it!"

"Of course you can't--with your own talent! No, no; for the rest of my
life I shall only read _you_."

"Does she know that--Miss Fancourt?"