drawing-room the way from the threshold to the hearthrug stretched
before him as interminably as the way from Howland Street to Sussex
Square. But of any other distance he was blissfully unaware. Beside
his vision of Lucia Harden Mrs. Herbert Rankin was an entirely
insignificant person.

Now Rankin was a little afraid of the elegant lady his wife. He had
had to apologise to her many times for the curious people he brought
to the house, and he was anxious that Rickman should make a good
impression. He was also hungry, as hungry as a man can be who has
three square meals every day of his life. Therefore he was annoyed
with Rickman for being late.

But his annoyance vanished at the first sight of him. His handshake
was significant of atonement and immutable affection. He introduced
him almost fearlessly to his wife. He had been at some pains to
impress upon her that she was about to entertain a much greater man
than her husband, and that it would be very charming of her if she
behaved accordingly. At this she pouted prettily, as became a bride,
and he pointed out that as Keith Rickman was a poet his greatness was
incommensurable with that of her husband, it left him undisturbed upon
his eminence as the supreme master of prose. So that Mrs. Rankin
smiled dimly and deferentially as an elegant hostess must smile upon a
poet who has kept her waiting. There were two other ladies there
(Rankin's mother and sister from the provinces); their greeting
conveyed a rustling and excited consciousness of the guest's
distinction.

As Rankin's family retreated, Maddox heaved himself forward and
grasped Rickman's hand without a word.

Rickman had no very clear idea of what happened in the brief pause
before dinner. His first sensation was one of confused beatitude and
warmth, of being received into an enfolding atmosphere of
friendliness. He was sure it was friendliness that made Maddox pluck
him by the arm and draw him down beside him on the sofa; and he was
too tired to wonder why Maddy should think it necessary to whisper
into his collar, "Steady, you'll be all right if you sit still, old
man." The strange voices of the women confused him further, and
standing made him giddy: he was glad to sit still in his corner
obliterated by Maddy's colossal shoulders. It was friendliness, he
knew, that made Rankin dispense with ceremony and pilot him through
those never-ending spaces to the dining-room. And it must have been an
exaggeration