‘My darling, that’s so long ago! I was a fool, puffed up by your enthusiasm and by seeing that you believed in me. A young man, don’t you know, is always something of an actor when he begins to see that a girl has faith in him. It is--how long, Carry?--fifteen years ago?’ ‘And what of that?’ she said. ‘If I could pick up my little thread, as I tell you, how much more easily could you pick up your great one? This was why I wanted to be within reach of London, within reach of the great libraries. It is quite easy to run up for the day to refer to anything you want--indeed, I might do it for you if you were very busy. And I can see that you have no interruptions, Edward. We must settle our hours and everything from that point of view.’ He felt himself at liberty to laugh as she came down to this more familiar ground. ‘I fear,’ he said, ‘all my plans were in the air--they never came to execution of any kind. I don’t know even, as I told you, whether I can write _at all_.’ ‘Edward!’ she cried, in an indignant tone. ‘Well, my love’--the flattery went to his heart, notwithstanding all he knew against it--‘that is the easiest of the matter to be sure; but everybody can write nowadays, and why should the world listen to me more than another? Besides, my favourite questions of social economy, as against political, have all been _exploités_ by other hands since then.’ ‘Not by other hands so capable as yours.’ ‘Oh, Carry!’ he cried, with a laugh in which there was pleasure as well as a little ridicule; ‘I fear you have a quite unwarrantable confidence in me; I am only----’ ‘Hush!’ she said, again putting up her hand to his mouth; ‘I don’t want to hear your opinion of yourself. I am a better judge than you are on that point. Besides, let us hear who have written on that question?’ She sat quite upright in her chair. ‘Bring them forward, and let them be judged,’ she said. ‘I cannot bring forth a whole school of writers before your tribunal, my lady. Well,’ he said, laughing, ‘there’s Ruskin for one--who has said all I once wanted to say, in an incomparable way, and gone a great deal further than I could go.’ ‘Ah!’ she cried; ‘that is just the whole matter. Mr. Ruskin is incomparable, as you say, but he goes a great deal too far. He is a poet. People adore him, but don’t put serious faith in him. Mr. Ruskin has nothing to do with it, Edward: he could not forestall _you_.’ ‘No, no more than the sun could forestall a farthing candle. Carry, my dear, don’t make me blush for myself. Come,’ he added, ‘let me see the little verses--for the moment that is more to the point. Perhaps when you have showed me how you have picked up your threads I may see how to pick up mine.’ ‘Should you really like to see them, Edward? They are nothing: they are very little verses indeed. I have left them in my writing-book.’