‘The characters are as true as life!’ cried Arthur Rhodes.  ’The Cantatrice drinking porter from the pewter at the slips after harrowing the hearts of her audience, is dearer to me than if she had tottered to a sofa declining sustenance; and because her creatrix has infused such blood of life into her that you accept naturally whatever she does.  She was exhausted, and required the porter, like a labourer in the cornfield.’

Emma looked at him, and perceived the poet swamped by the admirer.  Taken in conjunction with Mr. Cuthbert Dering’s frenzy for calculating, she disliked the incident of the porter and the pewter.

’While the Cantatrice swallowed her draught, I suppose Mr. Dering counted the cost?’ she said.

‘It really might be hinted,’ said Diana.

The discussion closed with the accustomed pro and con upon the wart of Cromwell’s nose, Realism rejoicing in it, Idealism objecting.

Arthur Rhodes was bidden to stretch his legs on a walk along the heights in the afternoon, and Emma was further vexed by hearing Tony complain of Redworth’s treatment of the lad, whom he would not assist to any of the snug little posts he was notoriously able to dispense.

‘He has talked of Mr. Rhodes to me,’ said Emma.  ’He thinks the profession of literature a delusion, and doubts the wisdom of having poets for clerks.’

‘John-Bullish!’ Diana exclaimed.  ’He speaks contemptuously of the poor boy.’

’Only inasmuch as the foolishness of the young man in throwing up the Law provokes his practical mind to speak.’

’He might take my word for the “young man’s” ability.  I want him to have the means of living, that he may write.  He has genius.’

’He may have it.  I like him, and have said so.  If he were to go back to his law-stool, I have no doubt that Redworth would manage to help him.’

’And make a worthy ancient Braddock of a youth of splendid promise!  Have I sketched him too Saxon?’

‘It is the lens, and hot the tribe, Tony.’

The cantatrice was not alluded to any more; but Emma’s disapproval blocked the current of composition, already subject to chokings in the brain of the author.  Diana stayed three days at Copsley, one longer than she had intended, so that Arthur Rhodes might have his fill of country air.

‘I would keep him, but I should be no companion for him,’ Emma said.

’I suspect the gallant squire is only to be satisfied by landing me safely,’ said Diana, and that small remark grated, though Emma saw the simple meaning.  When they parted, she kissed her Tony many times.  Tears were in her eyes.  It seemed to Diana that she was anxious to make amends for the fit of alienation, and she was kissed in return warmly, quite forgiven, notwithstanding the deadly blank she had caused in the imagination of the writer for pay, distracted by the squabbles of Debit and Credit.