in the future, is in the possession of the Romantic
school. But du Maurier seems to have felt himself paid to be funny, and
to conceal his sense of romance as Jack Point concealed his
love-sickness. His master, Thackeray, less than anyone apologised to his
readers for the parade of his own feelings.

There is a note of smugness that spoils _Trilby_; in fact Little Billee,
"frock-coated, shirt-collared within an inch of his life, duly scarfed
and scarf-pinned, chimney-pot-hatted, most beautifully trousered, and
balmorally booted," is the most insufferable picture of a hero of a
romance. This person compromises the effect of the charmingly haunting
presence of Trilby herself, and of the great-hearted gentleman in
Taffy. There is, moreover, the failure to convince us of Little Billee's
genius. We are not assisted to belief in the immortality of his works,
by the illustrations of the mid-Victorian upholstery in the midst of
which they were manufactured. On the other hand, we merely have a vision
of the type of art which won popular success a generation ago,
encouraged by the Royal Academy at the expense of something better, and
keeping a large group of well-dressed painters so much in Society, that,
like Little Billee himself, they actually grew tired of the great before
the great had time to tire of them--"incredible as it may seem, and
against nature."

Du Maurier put portraits of his friends into _Trilby_, softening the
outlines, and giving the touches, legitimate in a work of art, which
promote variation. He wrote impulsively, and a spirit of generous
recognition of the achievements of all his friends almost ruined his
book. The "lived happy ever afterwards" sentiment follows up every
reference to them. In the famous character of "Joe Sibley"
(Whistler)--afterwards altered to Antony, a Swiss, and ruined--a witty,
a debonair and careless genius was created. Just such an impression was
made upon us by this character as Whistler's own studied butterfly-pose
in life seemed intended to make. It was with the greatest regret we
missed the fascinating figure from the novel when published in book
form, a regret even confessed to by Whistler himself, though he had not
been able to refrain from dashing into print over its publication. There
was none other of the Bohemians described that so endeared himself to
us, or that was so alive--witnessing to the degree to which Whistler's
personality affected those with whom he was thrown