r very bones.
And he had not two shillings to rub together, but he possessed the
gift--genius. But they met somewhere, and fell in love with each
other, and that ended him. She took him, you see, and gave him all she
had. It was marvellous to do it, for she loved him so. Took him from
his four shilling attic into luxury. Out of his shabby, poor, worn
clothes into the best there were. From a penny 'bus into superb
motors. With all the rest of it to match. And he accepted it all
because he loved her, and it was the easiest way. Besides, just before
she had come into his life, he had written--well, whatever it
was--however, they all praised him, the critics and reviewers, and
called him the coming man, and he was very happy about it, and she
seemed to come into his life right at the top of his happiness over
his work. And sapped it. Didn't mean to, but did. Cut his genius down
at the root. Said his beginning fame was quite enough--quite enough
for her, for her friends, for the society into which she took him.
They all praised him without understanding how great he was, or
considering his future. They took him at her valuation, which was
great enough. But she thought he had achieved the summit. Did not
know, you see, that there was anything more.

"He was so sure of himself, too, during those first few years. Young
and confident, conscious of his power. Drifting would not matter for a
while. He could afford to drift. His genius would ripen, he told
himself, and time was on his side. So he drifted, very happy and
content, ripening. And being overlaid all the time, deeper and
thicker, with this intangible, transparent, strong wall, hemming him
in, shutting in the gold, just like that little joss there under the
wineglass.

"She lavished on him everything, without measure. But she had no
knowledge of him, really. Just another toy he was, the best of all, in
her luxurious equipment. So he travelled the world with her, and dined
at the Embassies of the world, East and West, in all the capitals of
Europe and of Asia. Getting restive finally, however, as the years
wore on. Feeling the wineglass, as it were, although he could not see
it. Looking through its clear transparency, but feeling pressed,
somehow, conscious of the closeness. But he continued to sit still,
not much wishing to move, to stretch himself.

"Then sounds from the other side began to filter in, echoing largely
in his restricted space, making within it reverber