I tried to attire you
so, but my imagination failed. I don't believe you will ever be a judge,
Harry."
"That is a discouraging prediction, Bessie, if I am to be a lawyer. I do
a little in this way," he said, handling a famous review that lay on the
table. "May I send it to you when there is a paper of mine in it?"
"Oh yes; I should like it so much! I should be so interested!" said
Bessie fervently. "We take the _Times_ at Abbotsmead, and _Blackwood_
and the old _Quarterly_, but not that. I have seen it at my uncle
Laurence's house, and Lady Latimer has it. I saw it in the Fairfield
drawing-room last night: is there anything of yours here, Harry?"
"Yes, this is mine--a rather dry nut for you. But occasionally I
contribute a light-literature article."
"Oh, I must tell my lady. She and Mr. Logger were differing over that
very paper, and ascribing it to half a dozen great, wise people in
turn."
Harry laughed: "Pray, then, don't confess for me. The arguments will
lose half their force if she learn what a tyro wrote it."
"No, no, she will be delighted to know--she adores talent. Besides, Mr.
Logger told her that the cleverest articles were written by sprightly
young men fresh from college. Have you paid your respects to her yet?
She told me with a significant little _moue_ that you had condescended
to call upon her at Easter."
"I propose to pay my respects in company with Christie to-morrow.
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