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ItwasRachel’sturnnowtofeeldepressed。Ashetalkedofwritinghehadbecomesuddenlyimpersonal。Hemightnevercareforanyone；
allthatdesiretoknowherandgetather，whichshehadfeltpressingonheralmostpainfully，hadcompletelyvanished。
“Areyouagoodwriter？“sheasked。
“Yes，“hesaid。“I’mnotfirst-rate，ofcourse；I’mgoodsecond-rate；
aboutasgoodasThackeray，Ishouldsay。“
Rachelwasamazed。ForonethingitamazedhertohearThackeraycalledsecond-rate；andthenshecouldnotwidenherpointofviewtobelievethattherecouldbegreatwritersinexistenceatthepresentday，oriftherewere，thatanyonesheknewcouldbeagreatwriter，andhisself-confidenceastoundedher，andhebecamemoreandmoreremote。
“Myothernovel，“Hewetcontinued，“isaboutayoungmanwhoisobsessedbyanidea——theideaofbeingagentleman。
HemanagestoexistatCambridgeonahundredpoundsayear。
Hehasacoat；itwasonceaverygoodcoat。Butthetrousers——
they’renotsogood。Well，hegoesuptoLondon，getsintogoodsociety，owingtoanearly-morningadventureonthebanksoftheSerpentine。Heisledintotellinglies——myidea，yousee，istoshowthegradualcorruptionofthesoul——callshimselfthesonofsomegreatlandedproprietorinDevonshire。Meanwhilethecoatbecomesolderandolder，andhehardlydarestowearthetrousers。
Can’tyouimaginethewretchedman，aftersomesplendideveningofdebauchery，contemplatingthesegarments——hangingthemovertheendofthebed，arrangingthemnowinfulllight，nowinshade，andwonderingwhethertheywillsurvivehim，orhewillsurvivethem？
Thoughtsofsuicidecrosshismind。Hehasafriend，too，amanwhosomehowsubsistsuponsellingsmallbirds，forwhichhesetstrapsinthefieldsnearUxbridge。They’rescholars，bothofthem。
IknowoneortwowretchedstarvingcreatureslikethatwhoquoteAristotleatyouoverafriedherringandapintofporter。
Fashionablelife，too，Ihavetorepresentatsomelength，inordertoshowmyherounderallcircumstances。LadyTheoBinghamBingley，whosebaymarehehadthegoodfortunetostop，isthedaughterofaveryfineoldTorypeer。I’mgoingtodescribethekindofpartiesIoncewentto——thefashionableintellectuals，youknow，wholiketohavethelatestbookontheirtables。
Theygiveparties，riverparties，partieswhereyouplaygames。
There’snodifficultyinconceivingincidents；thedifficultyistoputthemintoshape——nottogetrunawaywith，asLadyTheowas。
Itendeddisastrouslyforher，poorwoman，forthebook，asI
plannedit，wasgoingtoendinprofoundandsordidrespectability。
Disownedbyherfather，shemarriesmyhero，andtheyliveinasnuglittlevillaoutsideCroydon，inwhichtownheissetupasahouseagent。Heneversucceedsinbecomingarealgentlemanafterall。
That’stheinterestingpartofit。Doesitseemtoyouthekindofbookyou’dliketoread？“heenquired；“orperhapsyou’dlikemyStuarttragedybetter，“hecontinued，withoutwaitingforhertoanswerhim。
“Myideaisthatthere’sacertainqualityofbeautyinthepast，whichtheordinaryhistoricalnovelistcompletelyruinsbyhisabsurdconventions。ThemoonbecomestheRegentoftheSkies。
Peopleclapspurstotheirhorses，andsoon。I’mgoingtotreatpeopleasthoughtheywereexactlythesameasweare。Theadvantageisthat，detachedfrommodernconditions，onecanmakethemmoreintenseandmoreabstractthenpeoplewholiveaswedo。“
Rachelhadlistenedtoallthiswithattention，butwithacertainamountofbewilderment。Theybothsatthinkingtheirownthoughts。
“I’mnotlikeHirst，“saidHewet，afterapause；hespokemeditatively；
“Idon’tseecirclesofchalkbetweenpeople’sfeet。IsometimeswishIdid。Itseemstomesotremendouslycomplicatedandconfused。
Onecan’tcometoanydecisionatall；one’slessandlesscapableofmakingjudgments。D’youfindthat？Andthenoneneverknowswhatanyonefeels。We’reallinthedark。Wetrytofindout，butcanyouimagineanythingmoreludicrousthanoneperson’sopinionofanotherperson？Onegoesalongthinkingoneknows；
butonereallydoesn’tknow。“
AshesaidthishewasleaningonhiselbowarrangingandrearranginginthegrassthestoneswhichhadrepresentedRachelandherauntsatlunch
