Again the London of the rich laid hold on him; not threateningly this time, but rather as though a door were opened and a hand beckoned.

His own upward progress had begun; he was no longer jealous of the people who stood higher.
Dorchester House, Dudley House;--he looked at them with a good-humoured tolerance.

After all, London was pleasant; there was some recognition of merit; and even something to be said for Academies.
Then his picture began to hover before him.

It was a big thing; suppose it took him years?
Well, there would be portraits to keep him alive.

Meanwhile it was true enough what he had said to Madame de Pastourelles.