Metaphysics had preyed on Jewdwine like a flame.  He was consumed with a passion for unity.  The unity which Nature only strives after, blindly, furiously, ineffectually; the unity barely reached by the serene and luminous processes of Thought—­the artist achieves it with one stroke.  In him, by the twin acts of vision and creation, the worlds of Nature and the Idea are made one.  He leaps at a bound into the very heart of the Absolute.  He alone can be said to have attained, and (this was the point which Jewdwine insisted on) attained only by the sacrifice of his individuality.

Thus Jewdwine in his Prolegomena to AEsthetics.

As that work could be regarded only as a brutal and terrific challenge to the intellect, the safer course was to praise it, and it was unanimously praised.  Nobody was able to understand a word of it except the last chapter on “Individualism in Modern Art.”  But as criticism wisely concentrated itself on this the only comprehensible portion of the book, Jewdwine (who otherwise would have perished in his own profundity) actually achieved some journalistic notoriety as a dealer in piquant paradox and vigorous personalities.

Jewdwine was ambitious.  On the strength of his Prolegomena he had come up from Oxford with a remarkable reputation, which he had every inducement to cherish and to guard.  He was therefore the best possible editor for such a review as The Museion, and such a review as The Museion was the best possible instrument of his ambition.

His aim was to preserve the tradition of the paper as pure as on the day when it was given into his hands.

He was a little doubtful as to how far young Rickman would lend himself to that.

However, as the fruit of Jewdwine’s meditations, Rickman received a note inviting him to dine with the editor alone, at Hampstead.  Jewdwine, whose health required pure air, had settled very comfortably in that high suburb.  And, as his marriage seemed likely to remain long a matter for dubious reflection, he had arranged that his sister Edith should keep house for him.  In inviting Rickman to dine at Hampstead his intention was distinctly friendly; at the same time he was careful to fix an evening when Miss Jewdwine would not be there.  He was willing to help Rickman in every possible way short of introducing him to the ladies of his family.

But before dinner was ended he had to admit that this precaution was excessive.  Rickman (barring certain dreadful possibilities of speech) was really by no means unpresentable.  He was attired with perfect sanity.  His methods at the dinner table, if at all unusual, erred on the side of restraint rather than of extravagance; he gave indications of a certain curious personal refinement; and in the matter of wine he was almost incredibly abstemious.  It was the first time that Jewdwine had come to close quarters with his disciple, and with some surprise he saw himself