Mr. Overtop was wicked enough to say that he had read and admired it.

“It is a curious fact in the history of the poem, that the subtle thoughts which it evolves were the topic of discussion at one of my conversazioni; and on that very night Chickson told me he had forty-five lines written on the subject.  The knowledge of that trifling circumstance lends additional interest to the poem.”

“That is, if anything could lend additional interest to it,” observed Overtop.

“You are right,” said Mrs. Slapman.  “TRUTH, like that which animates every line of the ‘Empyrean,’ needs no factitious attractions.  You have read the ‘Empyrean?’”—­turning to Wilkeson and Maltboy, who had stood hard by during this conversation, calm patterns of politeness.

Mr. Wilkeson, not understanding the question (his thoughts wandering back to the pale mechanic and his child), nodded “Yes,” and was immediately put down on Mrs. Slapman’s mental tablet as a quiet gentleman of good taste.  But Matthew Maltboy, distinctly understanding it, was candid enough to say “No,” and from that moment was as nothing in the eyes of the lady.

Overtop proceeded to deepen the favorable impression which he had made upon this charming patroness of intellect.

“Did it ever occur to you how many subjects for the highest order of poetry lie unnoticed all about us?  Take that chandelier, for example, the prismatic drops of which are dull in the shade, but sparkle with all the colors of the rainbow in the gaslight.  Might not those hidden splendors be compared to that genius whose brilliancy is alone evoked by Beauty’s radiant smile?”

Marcus Wilkeson squirmed, and Matthew Maltboy felt uneasy, while their friend was delivering this elaborate idea, and felt easier when he reached the end in safety.  Mr. Overtop himself shared in the sensation of relief.

“Beautiful! beautiful!” cried Mrs. Slapman, in a species of rapture.  “I must repeat that delicious thought to Chickson.  But not now.”  And she looked inquiringly at Overtop, as if in expectation that he would utter another new TRUTH immediately.  That gentleman not happening to have one on his tongue’s end, Mrs. Slapman was kind enough to give him time for reflection.

CHAPTER X.

INFIRMITIES OF GENIUS.

“Allow me to point out some of my friends, Mr. Overtop.  Among them are faces which you may have seen.  If not, you will at least recognize several of the names.”

“But I must protest that I am monopolizing too much of your time, madam,” interposed Overtop, conscious that his neglected friends were looking on awkwardly, and waiting for him.

“And I protest against your protesting,” said Mrs. Slapman, with a merry laugh.  So saying, she motioned him to one of the front windows, and, under the shade of heavy blue and gold curtains, commenced to point out notable guests.