Ernest Dalton was not one of these, although he happened to be
markedly favored by persons of every distinction and rank. He was
received with a smile and a pleasant greeting wherever he went. He had
won the goodwill of social, political and scientific magnates, and yet
it could not be said of him, as of many another such luminary, that he
paid too dear for his whistle. He had not purchased his popularity
with servile adulation and at a sacrifice of his own personal dignity.
The smiles of the world are too transient and uncertain to repay one
for such a compromising tribute, especially when we can provoke them
in a worthier and more respectful manner. I doubt, however, if ever a
laurel-crown were worn more comfortably than Ernest Dalton could have
worn his.
And yet he was a very plain man, who spoke with an ordinary accent,
who wore unfashionable clothes, who never boasted of pedigree, but who
earned a distinct individuality about with him though he never
intruded it upon others. He was affable and agreeable without that
exaggeration of either quality which spends itself in profuse
laudation of social comets. He was a favorite but not a parasite, and
could lay his hand sincerely upon the clumsy waistcoat that sheltered
his sterling heart and say to that world of artifice and cunning. _Non
serviam._
Surely if it is possible to extract any sweetness from a world-given
fame or distinction, it is when that world has thrust it on us, and
not when we have begged and striven and pined for it, and bribed
hidden forces to unite in supporting and advocating our cause.
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