He said there was no room for a new poet who did not advertise himself.

There had been room for one of his college friends, but that had been a case of log rolling.
I do not know whether it was a fortunate or an unfortunate fate that had prevented the gay little lady of the pink cheeks from being at that moment installed at Barford as the wife of a poet who scorned publicity.
If Wentworth had been riding home to his wife on that February evening he would not have taken unconsciously another of the many steps which entailed so many more, by saying to himself, thinking of Fay: "Could a woman like that love a second time ?" Then he hastened his speed as he remembered that his old friend the Bishop of Lostford had by this time arrived at Barford..