It was
therefore in the hope of saving him that I broke faith with him and
temporarily stole his heroine. I did not dream of using her at all,
as you might think, as a heroine of my own, but rather as an
interesting person with ideas as to the duty of heroines--a sort of
Past Grand Mistress of the Art of Heroinism--who was worth
interviewing for the daily press. I flatter myself it was a good
idea, worthy almost of a genius, though I am perfectly well aware
that I am not a genius. I am merely a man of exceptional talent. I
have talent enough for a genius, but no taste for the unconventional,
and by just so much do I fall short of the realization of the hopes
of my friends and fears of my enemies. There are stories I have in
mind that are worthy of the most exalted French masters, for
instance, and when I have the time to be careful, which I rarely do,
I can write with the polished grace of a De Maupassant or a James,
but I shall never write them, because I value my social position too
highly to put my name to anything which it would never do to publish
outside of Paris.
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