"Who can remember half the things people say of a genius who lays himself out to be talked about?"
"People are impertinent enough to say that he invented me."
"That is to make him equal to Jove, nay, superior, for it was only incarnate wisdom—not surpassing beauty—that came from the brain of the Thunderer."
"I believe he did rave about me the year before last, when I set up house in London—went about talking idiotically—called me 'a soothing gem,' and a hundred other ridiculous names."
"But you didn't mind? You bear no malice."
"No, he and I are always chums. I rather liked being advertised."
"Gratis?"
"Of course. I treat him rather worse than my butler, but I admire his genius, and I let him sit on the carpet and read his poems to me, before they go to the printer."
The poet joined them presently, stalking across the room, a tall, slim figure, with a pale, lank face and long hair.