"Without ceasing. I only mention her as a single case. Do you want to know how to show a superlative consideration? Simply avoid him."
"Avoid him?" she despairingly breathed.
"Don't force him to have to take account of you; admire him in silence, cultivate him at a distance and secretly appropriate his message. Do you want to know," I continued, warming to my idea, "how to perform an act of homage really sublime?" Then as she hung on my words: "Succeed in never seeing him at all!"
"Never at all?" - she suppressed a shriek for it.
"The more you get into his writings the less you'll want to, and you'll be immensely sustained by the thought of the good you're doing him."
She looked at me without resentment or spite, and at the truth I had put before her with candour, credulity, pity. I was afterwards happy to remember that she must have gathered from my face the liveliness of my interest in herself. "I think I see what you mean."
"Oh I express it badly, but I should be delighted if you'd let me come to see you - to explain it better."
She made no response to this, and her thoughtful eyes fell on the big album, on which she presently laid her hands as if to take it away. "I did use to say out West that they might write a little less for autographs - to all the great poets, you know - and study the thoughts and style a little more."
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