text:  If I lived in some west-end Square with my drawing-room filled with _Louis Quatorze_ gew-gaws and half-a-dozen idle fellows in livery to announce my visitors I should not feel the hundredth part of the sense of superiority the contemptuous triumph the cool consciousness of the tyranny of gold which I feel when I see my shrinking supplicants sitting down among my dusty boxes and everlasting cobwebs