She fed the seed.

She watered it.

Before her foot had finished tapping on the wooden staircase, before the street and the thousand lights had swallowed her up again, his mind had grasped the knowledge of the need that was within him.
On Monday morning he went down to the chambers in the Temple where his name as a practising barrister was painted upon the lintel of the door.

This was a matter of formality.

Numberless barristers do it every day; numberless ones of them find the same as he did--nothing to be done.