She looked about the room.
"I see books; I see a table; I see a blotting-pad: and——" She actually, to the Poet's horror, turned over the leaves of the stitched book, with Humphrey's ornamental title-page. "Not a word written. Where is your work, Mr. Cornelius?"
"I work at Poesy. That book, Miss Fleming, is for the reception of my great epic when it is completed. Non omnis moriar. There will be found in that blank book the structure of a lifetime. I shall live by a single work, like Homer."
"What is it all about?" asked Phillis. She set the tea on the table and sat down, looking up at the Poet, who rose from his easy chair and made answer, walking up and down the room:
"It is called the Upheaving of Ælfred. In the darkest moments of Ælfred's life, while he is hiding amid the Somersetshire morasses, comes the Spirit of his Career, and guides him in a vision, step by step, to his crowning triumphs. Episodes are introduced. That of the swineherd and the milkmaid is a delicate pastoral, which I hope will stand side by side with the Daphnis and Chloe. When it is finished, would you like me to read you a few cantos?"
"No thank you very much," said Phillis. "I think I know all that I want to know about Alfred. Disguised as a neatherd, he took refuge in Athelney, where one day, being set to bake some cakes by the woman of the cottage, he became so absorbed in his own meditations that—— I never thought it a very interesting story."
"The loves of the swineherd and the milkmaid——" the Poet began.
"Yes," Phillis interrupted, unfeelingly. "But I hardly think I care much for swineherds. And if I had been Alfred I should have liked the stupid story about the cakes forgotten. Can't you write me some words for music, Mr. Cornelius? Do, and I will sing them to something or other. Or write some verses on subjects that people care to hear about, as Wordsworth did. My guardian used to read Wordsworth to me."
"Wordsworth could not write a real epic," said Cornelius.
"Could he not? Perhaps he preferred writing other things. Now I must carry Mr. Humphrey his tea. Good-by, Mr. Cornelius; and do not go to sleep again."