"Yes. Is a poet not supposed ever to see anything under his exquisite nose?"
"I am not," said Nicky solemnly, "always a poet. And when a person tells me he isn't going to do a thing, I naturally think he isn't."
"And I naturally think he is. Whatever you think about George Tanqueray, he's sure to do the other thing."
"Come—if you can calculate on that."
"You can't calculate on anything. Least of all with George Tanqueray. Except that he'll never achieve anything that isn't a masterpiece. If it's a masterpiece of folly."
"Mind you," she added, "I don't say he will marry Jane Holland, and I don't say it would be a masterpiece of folly if he did."
"What do you say?"
"That if he ever cares for any woman enough to marry her, it will be Jane."
"I see," said Nicky, after some reflection. "You think he's that sort?"
"I think he's a genius. What more do you want?"