eas, and his habit of frequently using
the word "sir" in talking with men whom he did not know very familiarly.

Mr. Blanchet was not disposed, from his knowledge of Mary Blanchet, to
hold the possession of a sister as a gift of romantic or inestimable
value. To say the truth, when Victor spoke so warmly of the delight of
having a sister, he too was not setting up the poetess as an ideal. He
was thinking rather of Miss Grey, and what a sister she would be for a
man to confide in and have always with him.

Meanwhile Herbert, with all his self-conceit, had common sense enough to
know that it would not do to leave Heron to find out from others that
the great poet Blanchet had yet to make his fame.

"My sister and I have been a long time separated," he said. "She lived
in the country for the most part, and I had to come to London."

"Of course--the only place for a man of genius. A grand stage, Mr.
Blanchet--a grand stage."

"So of course Mary is all the more inclined to make a sort of hero of
me. You must not take her estimate of me, Mr. Heron. She fancies the
outer world must think just as she does of everything I do. I am not a
famous poet, Mr. Heron, and probably never shall be. I belong to a
school which does not cultivate fame, or even popularity."

"I admire you all the more for that. It always seems to me that the poet
degrades his art who hunts for popularity--the poet or anybody else for
that matter," added Victor, thinking of his own unpopular performances
in St. Xavier's Settlements. "I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Blanchet.
I have seen so much hunting after popularity in England that I honor any
man of genius who has the courage to set his face against it."

"My latest volume of poems," Blanchet said firmly, "I do not even mean
to publish. They shall be printed, I hope, and got out in a manner
becoming of them--becoming, at least, of what I think of them; but they
shall not be hawked about book shops and reviewed by self-conceited,
ignorant prigs."

"Quite right, Mr. Blanchet; just what I should like to do myself if I
could possibly imagine myself gifted like you. But still you must admit
that it is little to the credit of the age that a poet should be forced
thus to keep his treasures from the public eye. Besides, it may be all
very well, you know, in your case or mine; but think of a man of genius
who has to live by his poems! It's easy talking for men who have
enough--my enough, I confess, is a pret