"I thought all you poets affected to be in love with Nature," she said. "I mean you younger poets," and she emphasized the word "younger" with a certain contemptuous tone, which made it just what it meant to be—"smaller poets."
"Why younger poets?"
"Well, because the elder ones I think really were in love with Nature, and didn't affect anything."
He smiled pityingly.
"No," he said decisively, "we don't care about Nature—our school."
"I am from the country; I don't think I know what your school is."
"We don't want to be known in the country; we couldn't endure to be known in the country."
"But fame?" Minola asked—"does fame not go outside the twelve-mile radius?"
"Oh, Miss Grey, do pray excuse me, but you really don't understand us; we don't want fame. What is fame? Vulgarity made immortal."
"Then what do you publish for?"