And off we did go,--I watching the red gabled roofs of Willowsmere Court shining in the late sunshine, till a turn in the road hid them from view. "You like your purchase?" queried Lucio presently. "I do. Immensely!" "And your rival, Mavis Clare? Do you like her?" I paused a moment, then answered frankly, "Yes. I like her. And I will admit something more than that to you now. I like her book. It is a noble work,--worthy of the most highly-gifted man. I always liked it--and because I liked it, I slated it." "Rather a mysterious course of procedure!" and he smiled; "Can you not explain?" "Of course I can explain,"--I said--"Explanation is easy. I envied her power--I envy it still. Her popularity caused me a smarting sense of injury, and to relieve it I wrote that article against her. But I shall never do anything of the kind again. I shall let her grow her laurels in peace." "Laurels have a habit of growing without any permission,"--observed Lucio significantly--"In all sorts of unexpected places too. And they can never be properly cultivated in the forcing-house of criticism." "I know that!" I said quickly, my thoughts reverting to my own book, and all the favourable criticisms that had been heaped upon it--"I have learned that lesson thoroughly, by heart!" He looked at me fixedly. "It is only one of many you may have yet to learn"--he said--"It is a lesson in fame. Your next course of instruction will be in love!" He smiled,--but I was conscious of a certain dread and discomfort as he spoke. I thought of Sibyl and her incomparable beauty----Sibyl, who had told me she could not love,--had we both to learn a lesson? And should we master it?--or would it master us? XXI