I should like to think that he had enough, though I don't in the least want him to be rich." Then, perceiving her daughter's expression of perplexity, Mrs.Hilbery burst out laughing.
"My dear, I'm not talking about YOUR William, though that's another reason for liking him.

I'm talking, I'm thinking, I'm dreaming of MY William--William Shakespeare, of course.

Isn't it odd," she mused, standing at the window and tapping gently upon the pane, "that for all one can see, that dear old thing in the blue bonnet, crossing the road with her basket on her arm, has never heard that there was such a person?
Yet it all goes on: lawyers hurrying to their work, cabmen squabbling for their fares, little boys rolling their hoops, little girls throwing bread to the gulls, as if there weren't a Shakespeare in the world.

I should like to stand at that crossing all day long and say: 'People, read Shakespeare!'" Katharine sat down at her table and opened a long dusty envelope.

As Shelley was mentioned in the course of the letter as if he were alive, it had, of course, considerable value.