ore than the
inspired mind. For it was inspired: I had sat up half the night over
her drama, and had felt thrilled through and through more than once by
its earnestness, passion, and power.

No one could have been more surprised than I was to find myself thus
enthusiastic. I thought I had outgrown that sort of thing. And one
would have supposed, too (I myself should have supposed so the day
before), that the faults of the drama, which were many and prominent,
would have chilled any liking I might have felt, I being a writer
myself, and therefore critical; for writers are as apt to make much of
the "how," rather than the "what," as painters, who, it is well known,
prefer an exquisitely rendered representation of a commonplace theme to
an imperfectly executed picture of even the most striking subject. But
in this case, on the contrary, the scattered rays of splendor in Miss
Grief's drama had made me forget the dark spots, which were numerous
and disfiguring; or, rather, the splendor had made me anxious to have
the spots removed. And this also was a philanthropic state very unusual
with me. Regarding unsuccessful writers, my motto had been "Vae victis!"

My visitor took a seat and folded her hands; I could see, in spite of
her quiet manner, that she was in breathless suspense. It seemed so
pitiful that she should be trembling there before me--a woman so much
older than I was, a woman who possessed the divine spark of genius,
which I was by no means sure (in spite of my success) had been granted
to me--that I felt as if I ought to go down on my knees before her, and
entreat her to take her proper place of supremacy at once. But there!
one does not go down on one's knees, combustively, as it were, before a
woman over fifty, plain in feature, thin, dejected, and ill-dressed. I
contented myself with taking her hands (in their miserable old gloves)
in mine, while I said cordially, "Miss Crief, your drama seems to me
full of original power. It has roused my enthusiasm: I sat up half the
night reading it."

The hands I held shook, but something (perhaps a shame for having
evaded the knees business) made me tighten my hold and bestow upon her
also a reassuring smile. She looked at me for a moment, and then,
suddenly and noiselessly, tears rose and rolled down her cheeks. I
dropped her hands and retreated. I had not thought her tearful: on the
contrary, her voice and face had seemed rigidly controlled. But now
here she was bendi