d very
charming, but as to which--if it really wouldn't bore Mr. Berridge--he
should so like the verdict of some one who knew. His friend was awfully
ambitious, and he thought there was something in it--with all of which
might he send the book to any address?

Berridge thought of many things while the young Lord thus charged upon
him, and it was odd that no one of them was any question of the possible
worth of the offered achievement--which, for that matter, was certain to
be of the quality of _all_ the books, to say nothing of the plays, and
the projects for plays, with which, for some time past, he had seen his
daily post-bag distended. He had made out, on looking at these things,
no difference at all from one to the other. Here, however, was something
more--something that made his fellow-guest's overture _independently_
interesting and, as he might imagine, important. He smiled, he was
friendly and vague; said "A work of fiction, I suppose?" and that he
didn't pretend ever to pronounce, that he in fact quite hated, always,
to have to, not "knowing," as he felt, any better than any one else; but
would gladly look at anything, under that demur, if it would give any
pleasure. Perhaps the very brightest and most diamond-like twinkle he
had yet seen the star of his renown emit was just the light brought into
his young Lord's eyes by this so easy consent to oblige. It was easy
because the presence before him was from moment to moment, referring
itself back to some recent observation or memory; something caught
somewhere, within a few weeks or months, as he had moved about, and that
seemed to flutter forth at this stir of the folded leaves of his recent
experience very much as a gathered, faded flower, placed there for
"pressing," might drop from between the pages of a volume opened at
hazard.

He had seen him before, this splendid and sympathetic person--whose
flattering appeal was by no means _all_ that made him sympathetic;
he had met him, had noted, had wondered about him, had in fact
imaginatively, intellectually, so to speak, quite yearned over him, in
some conjunction lately, though ever so fleet-ingly, apprehended: which
circumstance constituted precisely an association as tormenting, for
the few minutes, as it was vague, and set him to sounding, intensely
and vainly, the face that itself figured everything agreeable except
recognition. He couldn't remember, and the young man didn't; distinctly,
yes, they had been