rtrait of the great misguided novelist. One
of the gentlemen was unimaginable--he was too young; and the other
scarcely looked clever enough, with such mild undiscriminating eyes. If
those eyes were St. George's the problem, presented by the ill-matched
parts of his genius would be still more difficult of solution. Besides,
the deportment of their proprietor was not, as regards the lady in the
red dress, such as could be natural, toward the wife of his bosom, even
to a writer accused by several critics of sacrificing too much to manner.
Lastly Paul Overt had a vague sense that if the gentleman with the
expressionless eyes bore the name that had set his heart beating faster
(he also had contradictory conventional whiskers--the young admirer of
the celebrity had never in a mental vision seen _his_ face in so vulgar a
frame) he would have given him a sign of recognition or of friendliness,
would have heard of him a little, would know something about
"Ginistrella," would have an impression of how that fresh fiction had
caught the eye of real criticism. Paul Overt had a dread of being
grossly proud, but even morbid modesty might view the authorship of
"Ginistrella" as constituting a degree of identity. His soldierly friend
became clear enough: he was "Fancourt," but was also "the General"; and
he mentioned to the new visitor in the course of a few moments that he
had but lately returned from twenty years service abroad.

"And now you remain in England?" the young man asked.

"Oh yes; I've bought a small house in London."

"And I hope you like it," said Overt, looking at Mrs. St. George.

"Well, a little house in Manchester Square--there's a limit to the
enthusiasm _that_ inspires."

"Oh I meant being at home again--being back in Piccadilly."

"My daughter likes Piccadilly--that's the main thing. She's very fond of
art and music and literature and all that kind of thing. She missed it
in India and she finds it in London, or she hopes she'll find it. Mr.
St. George has promised to help her--he has been awfully kind to her. She
has gone to church--she's fond of that too--but they'll all be back in a
quarter of an hour. You must let me introduce you to her--she'll be so
glad to know you. I dare say she has read every blest word you've
written."

"I shall be delighted--I haven't written so very many," Overt pleaded,
feeling, and without resentment, that the General at least was vagueness
itself about that. But