I went up and spoke to him, and did
it (I like to think I did it now) with reverence. He seemed, in
spite of the reverence, to be a little dashed at seeing _me_ there.
His idea, evidently, was that if so obscure a person as I could be
present, it diminished _his_ splendor and significance.

He inquired (for hope was immortal in him) whether I was there for
the papers? I said no, I wasn't there for anything. I had come down
with Burton, because we---- But he interrupted me.

"What's _he_ doing here?" he said. There was the funniest air of
resentment and suspicion about him.

I reminded him that Burton's "Essay on Ford Lankester" had given him
a certain claim. Besides, Mrs. Lankester had asked him. He was one
of the few she had asked. I really couldn't tell him she had asked
me.

His gloom was awful enough when he heard that Burton had been asked.
You see, the fact glared, and even he must have felt it--that he,
with his tremendous, his horrific vogue, had not achieved what
Grevill Burton had by his young talent. He had never known Ford
Lankester. Goodness knows I didn't mean to rub it into him; but
there it was.

We had moved away from the edge of the grave (I think he didn't like
to be seen standing there with me) and I begged him to introduce me
to his daughter. He did so with an alacrity which I have since seen
was anything but flattering to me, and left me with her while he
made what you might call a dead set at Furnival. He had had his eye
on him and on the other representatives of the press all the time he
had been talking to me. Now he made straight for him; when Furnival
edged off he followed; when Furnival dodged he doubled; he was so
afraid that Furnival might miss him. As if Furnival could have
missed him, as if in the face of Wrackham's vogue his paper would
have let him miss him. It would have been as much as Furny's place
on it was worth.

Of course that showed that Wrackham ought never to have been there;
but there he was; and when you think of the unspeakable solemnity
and poignancy of the occasion it really is rather awful that the one
vivid impression I have left of it is of Charles Wrackham; Charles
Wrackham under the yew tree; Charles Wrackham leaning up against a
pillar (he remained standing during the whole of the service in the
church) with his arm raised and his face hidden in his cloak. The
attitude this time was immense. Furnival (Furny was really dreadful)
said it was "Brother mourning