The young man's
beginnings in London were difficult, and he had aggravated them by
his dislike of journalism. His father's connection with it would
have helped him, but he was (insanely, most of his friends judged--
the great exception was always Mrs. Alsager) INTRAITABLE on the
question of form. Form--in his sense--was not demanded by English
newspapers, and he couldn't give it to them in THEIR sense. The
demand for it was not great anywhere, and Wayworth spent costly weeks
in polishing little compositions for magazines that didn't pay for
style. The only person who paid for it was really Mrs. Alsager: she
had an infallible instinct for the perfect. She paid in her own way,
and if Allan Wayworth had been a wage-earning person it would have
made him feel that if he didn't receive his legal dues his palm was
at least occasionally conscious of a gratuity. He had his
limitations, his perversities, but the finest parts of him were the
most alive, and he was restless and sincere. It is however the
impression he produced on Mrs.
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