"I expect you'd like to have a look at some of my work," he suggested. "Very much," said Mr. Hazlewood; and in a moment with his dry assent he had reduced all his son's achievement to the level of a fifth-form composition. Guy took the manuscripts out of his desk, and disengaging from the heap any poems that might be ascribed to the influence of Pauline, he presented the rest to his father. Mr. Hazlewood settled himself as comfortably as he could ever seem to be comfortable and solemnly began to read without comment. Guy would have liked to get up and leave him alone, for though he assured himself that the opinion whether favourable or unfavourable did not matter, his suspense was sharp and the inexpression of his father's demeanour, that assumption of tutorial impartiality, kept him puzzling and unable to do anything but watch the critic's face and toy mechanically with the hair of Bob's sentimental head upon his knee. At last the manuscripts were finished, and Guy sat back for the verdict. "Oh, yes, I like some very much," said Mr. Hazlewood. "But I can't help thinking that all of them could have been written as well in recreation after the arduousness of a decent profession. However, you've burned your boats as far as Fox Hall is concerned, and I shall certainly be the first to congratulate you, if you bring your ambition to a successful issue." "You mean monetarily?" Guy asked. His father did not answer. "You wouldn't count as a successful issue recognition from the people who care for poetry?" Guy went on. "I'm not particularly impressed by contemporary taste," said Mr. Hazlewood. "We seem to me to be living in a time when all the great men have gone, and the new generation does not appear likely to fill very adequately the gap they have left." "I wonder if there has ever been a time when people have not said just what you're saying? Do you seriously think you'd recognize a great man if you saw him?" "I hope I should," said his father looking perfectly convinced that he would. "Well, I don't believe you would," said Guy. "How do you know I'm not a great man?" His father laughed dryly. "I don't know, my dear Guy, of course and nothing would gratify me more than to find out that you were. But at least you'll allow me to observe that _great_ men are generally remarkable for their modesty." "Yes, after they've been accorded the homage of the world," Guy argued. "They can afford to be modest then. I fancy that most of them were self-confident in their youth. I hope they were, poor devils. It must have been miserable for most of them, if they weren't." "However," said Mr. Hazlewood. "All these theories of juvenile grandeur, interesting though they may be, do not take us far along the road of practical politics. I'm to understand, am I, that you are quite determined to remain here?" "For another year at any rate," Guy said. "That is until I have a volume of poems ready." "And your engagement?" asked his father.