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man　wore　to　my　sense　an　aspect　more　and　more　professional　if　you

like；　but　less　and　less　literary。　　At　the　end　of　a　couple　of　years

there　was　something　monstrous　in　the　impudence　with　which　he　played

his　part　in　the　comedy。　　When　I　wondered　how　she　could　play　HER　part

I　had　to　perceive　that　her　good　faith　was　complete　and　that　what　kept

it　so　was　simply　her　extravagant　fondness。　　She　loved　the　young

impostor　with　a　simple；　blind；　benighted　love；　and　of　all　the　heroes

of　romance　who　had　passed　before　her　eyes　he　was　by　far　the　most

brilliant。



He　was　at　any　rate　the　most　realshe　could　touch　him；　pay　for　him；

suffer　for　him；　worship　him。　　He　made　her　think　of　her　princes　and

dukes；　and　when　she　wished　to　fix　these　figures　in　her　mind's　eye　she

thought　of　her　boy。　　She　had　often　told　me　she　was　carried　away　by

her　own　creations；　and　she　was　certainly　carried　away　by　Leolin。　　He

vivified；　by　potentialities　at　least；　the　whole　question　of　youth　and

passion。　　She　held；　not　unjustly；　that　the　sincere　novelist　should

feel　the　whole　flood　of　life；　she　acknowledged　with　regret　that　she

had　not　had　time　to　feel　it　herself；　and　it　was　a　joy　to　her　that　the

deficiency　might　be　supplied　by　the　sight　of　the　way　it　was　rushing

through　this　magnificent　young　man。　　She　exhorted　him；　I　suppose；　to

let　it　rush；　she　wrung　her　own　flaccid　little　sponge　into　the

torrent。　　I　knew　not　what　passed　between　them　in　her　hours　of

tuition；　but　I　gathered　that　she　mainly　impressed　on　him　that　the

great　thing　was　to　live；　because　that　gave　you　material。　　He　asked

nothing　better；　he　collected　material；　and　the　formula　served　as　a

universal　pretext。　　You　had　only　to　look　at　him　to　see　that；　with　his

rings　and　breastpins；　his　cross…barred　jackets；　his　early　embonpoint；

his　eyes　that　looked　like　imitation　jewels；　his　various　indications

of　a　dense；　full…blown　temperament；　his　idea　of　life　was　singularly

vulgar；　but　he　was　not　so　far　wrong　as　that　his　response　to　his

mother's　expectations　was　not　in　a　high　degree　practical。　　If　she　had

imposed　a　profession　on　him　from　his　tenderest　years　it　was　exactly　a

profession　that　he　followed。　　The　two　were　not　quite　the　same；

inasmuch　as　HIS　was　simply　to　live　at　her　expense；　but　at　least　she

couldn't　say　that　he　hadn't　taken　a　line。　　If　she　insisted　on

believing　in　him　he　offered　himself　to　the　sacrifice。　　My　impression

is　that　her　secret　dream　was　that　he　should　have　a　liaison　with　a

countess；　and　he　persuaded　her　without　difficulty　that　he　had　one。　　I

don't　know　what　countesses　are　capable　of；　but　I　have　a　clear　notion

of　what　Leolin　was。



He　didn't　persuade　his　sister；　who　despised　himshe　wished　to　work

her　mother　in　her　own　way；　and　I　asked　myself　why　the　girl's　judgment

of　him　didn't　make　me　like　her　better。　　It　was　because　it　didn't　save

her　after　all　from　a　mute　agreement　with　him　to　go　halves。　　There

were　moments　when　I　couldn't　help　looking　hard　into　his　atrocious

young　eyes；　challenging　him　to　confess　his　fantastic　fraud　and　give

it　up。　　Not　a　little　tacit　conversation　passed　between　us　in　this

way；　but　he　had　always　the　best　of　it。　　If　I　said：　　〃Oh；　come　now；

with　ME　you　needn't　keep　it　up；　plead　guilty；　and　I'll　let　you　off；〃

he　wore　the　most　ingenuous；　the　most　candid　expression；　in　the　depths

of　which　I　could　read：　　〃Oh；　yes；　I　know　it　exasperates　youthat's

just　why　I　do　it。〃　　He　took　the　line　of　earnest　inquiry；　talked　about

Balzac　and　Flaubert；　asked　me　if　I　thought　Dickens　DID　exaggerate　and

Thackeray　OUGHT　to　be　called　a　pessimist。　　Once　he　came　to　see　me；　at

his　mother's　suggestion　he　declared；　on　purpose　to　ask　me　how　far；　in

my　opinion；　in　the　English　novel；　one　really　might　venture　to　〃go。〃

He　was　not　resigned　to　the　usual　pruderieshe　suffered　under　them

already。　　He　struck　out　the　brilliant　idea　that　nobody　knew　how　far

we　might　go；　for　nobody　had　ever　tried。　　Did　I　think　HE　might　safely

trywould　it　injure　his　mother　if　he　did？　　He　would　rather　disgrace

himself　by　his　timidities　than　injure　his　mother；　but　certainly　some

one　ought　to　try。　　Wouldn't　_I_　trycouldn't　I　be　prevailed　upon　to

look　at　it　as　a　duty？　　Surely　the　ultimate　point　ought　to　be　fixed

he　was　worried；　haunted　by　the　question。　　He　patronised　me

unblushingly；　made　me　feel　like　a　foolish　amateur；　a　helpless　novice；

inquired　into　my　habits　of　work　and　conveyed　to　me　that　I　was　utterly

vieux　jeu　and　had　not　had　the　advantage　of　an　early　training。　　I　had

not　been　brought　up　from　the　germ；　I　knew　nothing　of　lifedidn't　go

at　it　on　HIS　system。　　He　had　dipped　into　French　feuilletons　and

picked　up　plenty　of　phrases；　and　he　made　a　much　better　show　in　talk

than　his　poor　mother；　who　never　had　time　to　read　anything　and　could

only　be　vivid　with　her　pen。　　If　I　didn't　kick　him　downstairs　it　was

because　he　would　have　alighted　on　her　at　the　bottom。



When　she　went　to　live　at　Primrose　Hill　I　called　upon　her　and　found

her　weary　and　wasted。　　It　had　waned　a　good　deal；　the　elation　caused

the　year　before　by　Ethel's　marriage；　the　foam　on　the　cup　had　subsided

and　there　was　a　bitterness　in　the　draught。



She　had　had　to　take　a　cheaper　house　and　she　had　to　work　still　harder

to　pay　even　for　that。　　Sir　Baldwin　was　obliged　to　be　close；　his

charges　were　fearful；　and　the　dream　of　her　living　with　her　daughter

（a　vision　she　had　never　mentioned　to　me）　must　be　renounced。　　〃I　would

have　helped　with　things；　and　I　could　have　lived　perfectly　in　one

room；〃　she　said；　〃I　would　have　paid　for　everything；　andafter　all

I'm　some　one；　ain't　I？　　But　I　don't　fit　in；　and　Ethel　tells　me　there

are　tiresome　people　she　MUST　receive。　　I　can　help　them　from　here；　no

doubt；　better　than　from　there。　　She　told　me　once；　you　know；　what　she

thinks　of　my　picture　of　life。　　'Mamma；　your　picture　of　life　is

preposterous！'　　No　doubt　it　is；　but　she's　vexed　with　me　for　letting

my　prices　go　down；　and　I　had　to　write　three　novels　to　pay　for　all　her

marriage　cost　me。　　I　did　it　very　wellI　mean　the　outfit　and　the

wedding；　but　that's　why　I'm　here。　　At　any　rate　she　doesn't　want　a

dingy　old　woman　in　her　house。　　I　should　give　it　an　atmosphere　of

literary　glory；　but　literary　glory　is　only　the　eminence　of　nobodies。

Besides；　she　doubts　my　gloryshe　knows　I'm　glorious　only　at　Peckham

and　Hackney。　　She　doesn't　want　her　friends　to　ask　if　I've　never　known

nice　people。　　She　can't　tell　them　I've　never　been　in　society。　　She

tried　to　teach　me　better　once；　but　I　couldn't　learn。　　It　would　seem

too　as　if　Peckham　and　Hackney　had　had　enough　of　me；　for　（don't　tell

any　one！）　I've　had　to　take　less　for　my　last　than　I　ever　took　for

anything。〃　　I　asked　her　how　little　this　had　been；　not　from　curiosity；

but　in　order　to　upbraid　her；　more　disinterestedly　than　Lady　Luard　had

done；　for　such　concessions。　　She　answered　〃I'm　ashamed　to　tell　you；〃

and　then　she　began　to　cry。



I　had　never　seen　her　break　down；　and　I　was　proportionately　moved；　she

sobbed；　like　a　frightened　child；　over　the　extinction　of　her　vogue　and

the　exhaustion　of　her　vein。　　Her　little　workroom　seemed　indeed　a

barren　place　to　grow　flowers；　and　I　wondered；　in　the　after　years　（for

she　continued　to　produce　and　publish）　by　what　desperate　and　heroic

process　she　dragged　them　out　of　the　soil。　　I　remember　asking　her　on

that　occasion　what　had　become　of　Leolin；　and　how　much　longer　she

intended　to　allow　him　to　amuse　himself　at　her　cost。　　She　rejoined

with　spirit；　wiping　her　eyes；　that　he　was　down　at　Brighton　hard　at

workhe　was　in　the　midst　of　a　noveland　that　he　FELT　life　so；　in

all　its　misery　and　mystery；　that　it　was　cruel　to　speak　of　such

experiences　as　a　pleasure。　　〃He　goes　beneath　the　surface；〃　she　said；

〃and　he　FORCES　himself　to　look　at　things　from　which　he　would　rather

turn　away。　　Do　you　call　that　amusing　yourself？　　You　should　see　his

face　sometimes！　　And　he　does　it　for　me　as　much　as　for　himself。　　He

tells　me　everythinghe　comes　home　to　me　with　his　trouvailles。　　We

are　artists　together；　and　to　the　artist　all　things　are　pure。　　I've

often　heard　you　say　so　yourself。〃　　The　novel　that　Leolin　was　engaged

in　at　Brighton　was　never　published；　but　a　friend　of　mine　and　of　Mrs。

Stormer's　who　was　staying　there　happened　to　mention　to　me　later　that

he　had　seen　the　young　apprentice　to　fiction　driving；　in　a　dogcart；　a

young　lady　with　a　very　pink　face。　　When　I　suggested　that　she　was

perhaps　a　woman　of　title　with　whom　he　was　conscientiously　flirting　my

informant　replied：　　〃She　is　indeed；　but　do　you　know　what　her　title

is？〃　　He　pronounced　itit　was　familiar　and　descriptivebut　I　won't

reproduce　it　here。　　I　don't　know　whether　Leolin　mentioned　it　to　his

mother：　　she　would　have　needed　all　the　purity　of　the　artist　to

forgive　him。　　I　hated　so　to　come　across　him　that　in　the　very　last

years　I　went　rarely　to　see　her；　though　I　knew　that　she　had　come

pretty　well　to　the　end　of　her　rope。　　I　didn't　want　her　to　tell　me

that　she　had　fairly　to　give　her　books　awayI　didn't　want　to　see　her

cry。　　She　kept　it　up　amazingly；　and　every　few　months；　at　my　club；　I

saw　three　new　volumes；　in　green；　in　crimson；　in　blue；　on　the　book…

table　that　groaned　with　light　literature。　　Once　I　met　her　at　the

Academy　soiree；　where　you　meet　people　you　thought　were　dead；　and　she

vouchsafed　the　information；　as　if　she　owed　it　to　me　in　candour；　that

Leolin　had　been　obliged　to　recognise　insuperable　difficulties　in　the

question　of　FORM；　he　was　so　fastidious；　so　that　she　had　now　arrived

at　a　definite　understanding　with　him　（it　was　such　a　comfort）　that　SHE

would　do　the　form　if　he　would　bring　home　the　substance。　　That　was　now

his　positionhe　foraged　for　her　in　the　great　world　at　a　salary。

〃He's　my　'devil；'　don't　you　see？　as　if　I　were　a　great　lawyer：　　he

gets　up　the　case　and　I　argue　it。〃　　She　mentioned　further　that　in

addition　to　his　salary　he　was　paid　by　the　piece：　　he　got　so　much　for

a　striking　character；　so　much　for　a　pretty　name；　so　much　for　a　plot；

so　much　for　an　incident；　and　had　so　much　promised　him　if　he　would

invent　a　new