I did so in silence.
"First-rate," I said, when I had finished. "Not a weak line in it. Not a single weak line. And there's nothing to prevent its being taken even in this d——d England, I think. The title's the worst part. You'll have to alter that."
"Why? Swinburne has a poem, 'Hermaphroditus.'"
"Yes—in a volume; and there it's Latinised; and then Swinburne has made his name, which of course is everything. If you want to make your debut before the English reading world you must do so with 'Ode to my father's tombstone,' or something of that sort!"
"Well, if you think Latin would improve it, let's put 'Duplexus' as its title," he answered, laughing and trying to snatch back the paper.
"Not on any account!" I said. "That would sound cynical, and cynical when you're unknown you must not be."
"Oh, well, there! I leave it to you to find a title! I don't care what it's called."
I looked through the verses trying to catch an idea for a name. Numbers suggested themselves to me, but none sufficiently vague and indefinite to suit the English ear. At last I said—
"Do you think Linked Spheres would do?"
"Linked Spheres?" replied Howard, with elevated brows. "What on earth has that to do with the subject?"