fully and adroitly. He writes
a book of travel. It is impudent, and it traverses the observations of
authorities, and the scientific geographers prance with rage. That was
what he wished. He writes a novel. It sets London laughing at me, his
political chief. He knew me well enough to be sure I would not resent
it. He would have lampooned his grandmother, if he was sure she
would not, or could not, hurt him. Then he becomes more audacious. He
publishes a monograph on the painters of Spain, artificial, confident,
rhetorical, acute: as fascinating as a hide-and-seek drawing-room
play--he is so cleverly escaping from his ignorance and indiscretions
all the while. Connoisseurs laugh, students of art shriek a little, and
Ruskin writes a scathing letter, which was what he had played for. He
had got something for nothing cheaply. The few who knew and despised him
did not matter, for they were able and learned and obscure, and, in
the world where he moves, most people are superficial, mediocre,
and 'tuppence coloured.' It was all very brilliant. He pursued his
notoriety, and got it."

"Industrious Eglington!"

"But, yes, he is industrious. It is all business. It was an enormous
risk, rebelling against his party, and leaving me, and going over; but
his temerity justified itself, and it didn't matter to him that people
said he went over to get office as we were going out. He got the
office-and people forget so soon. Then, what does he do--"

"He brings out another book, and marries a wife, and abuses his old
friends--and you."

"Abuse? With his tongue in his cheek, hoping that I should reply.
Dev'lishly ingenious! But on that book of Electricity and Disease he
scored. In most other things he's a barber-shop philosopher, but in
science he has got a flare, a real talent. So he moves modestly in this
thing, for which he had a fine natural gift and more knowledge than he
ever had before in any department, whose boundaries his impertinent and
ignorant mind had invaded. That book gave him a place. It wasn't full
of new things, but it crystallised the discoveries, suggestions, and
expectations of others; and, meanwhile, he had got a name at no cost.
He is so various. Look at it dispassionately, and you will see much to
admire in his skill. He pleases, he amuses, he startles, he baffles, he
mystifies."

The Duchess made an impatient exclamation. "The silly newspapers call
him a 'remarkable man, a personality.' Now, believe me, Windl