"And then last, but oh, so utterly first, came George Eliot. It was in the days when her cult was at its height--thank heaven I never left her shrine!--and we used to wait outside Macmillan's shop to seize the new instalments of Daniel Deronda. She came for a few minutes to my room, and I was almost senseless with excitement. I had just repapered my room with the newest thing in dolorous Morris papers. Some one must have called her attention to it, for I remember that she said in her shy, impressive way, "Your paper makes a beautiful background for your face." The ecstasy was too much, and I knew no more."