"By the way, Mr. Moore, the verses I spoke of were charming. Mrs. FitzHerbert read them aloud to the assembled company, who received them with every mark of pleasure and appreciation. Mr. Sheridan was particularly complimentary in his comments, while no less harsh a critic than Mr. Brummell condescended to express himself as delighted. Have you other poems, Mr. Moore?"
"What is that, Lord Brooking?"
"Have you other poems?"
Moore's laugh was not untinged with bitterness as he opened the drawer in the table, lifting from it with both hands a confused pile of manuscripts which he dropped carelessly in front of his guest.
"A few, sir," he remarked grimly.
"But why are they not published?" demanded Lord Brooking, scanning various poems through his eyeglasses. "They seem of uniform excellence."
"They are refused because I have no patron in the world of fashion to accept the dedication. McDermot, the great publisher, told me so himself."
"Indeed?" remarked his lordship, meditatively. "Hum!"
"Ah, if your lordship would permit me?" began Moore, eagerly.
"I 'll do better than that," interrupted Brooking. "I 'll bring your work to the attention of the Prince himself."