imply a stock instance
of Jinny's way. Jinny, whose affairs were in Tanqueray's hands, had been
meditating an infidelity to Messrs. Molyneux, by whom Tanqueray
vehemently assured her she had been, and always would be, "had." They
had "had" her this time by the sacrificial ardour with which they soared
to her suggestion that Mr. Prothero should be published. Miss Holland
must, they urged, be aware that Mr. Prothero had been rejected by every
other firm in London. They were sure that she realized the high danger
of their enterprise and that she appreciated the purity of their
enthusiasm. The poems were, as she knew, so extraordinary that Mr.
Prothero had not one chance in a thousand even with the small public
that read poetry. Still, they were giving Mr. Prothero his fractional
opportunity, because of their enthusiasm and their desire to serve Miss
Holland. They understood that Miss Holland was thinking of leaving them.
They would not urge her to remain, but they hoped that, for her own
sake, she would reconsider it.

Jane had reconsidered it and had remained.

"You understand clearly, Jinny," Tanqueray had said, "that you're paying
for Prothero's poems?"

To that Jinny had replied, "It's what I wanted to do, and there wasn't
any other way."

Owen Prothero could no longer say that nobody knew his name. His
innocence was unaware of the secret processes by which names are made
and unmade; but he had gathered from Nina that her friends had created
for him a rumour and reputation which he persistently refused to
incarnate by his presence among them. He said he wanted to preserve his
innocence. Tanqueray's retirement was not more superb or more indignant;
Tanqueray had been fortuitously and infrequently "met"; but nobody met
Prothero anywhere. Even Jane Holland, the authentic fount of rumour, had
not met him.

It was hard on Jane that she who was, as she piteously pleaded, the prey
of all the destroyers, should not be allowed a sight of this
incomparable creator. But she respected the divine terror that kept
Nina's unlicked Celt outside women's drawing-rooms.

She understood, however, that he was to be seen and seen more often than
not, at Tanqueray's rooms in Torrington Square. Tanqueray's wife did not
count. She was not the sort of woman Prothero could be afraid of, and
she was guiltless of having any drawing-room. Jane remembered that it
was a long time since she had seen Tanqueray's wife.

One afternoon, about fiv