The House of The Vampire by George Sylvester Viereck Chapter 1 Page 7

The glad blood mounted to Ernest’s cheeks at praise from the austere lips of this arbiter of literary elegance.

An almost imperceptible smile crept over the other man’s features.

“I am proud that my work interests you,” was all the boy could say.

“I think it is quite amazing, but at present,” here Clarke drew out a watch set with jewels, “I am afraid I must bid you good-bye.”

He held Ernest’s hand for a moment in a firm genial grasp, then turned away briskly, while the boy remained standing open-mouthed. The crowd jostling against him carried him almost off his feet, but his eyes followed far into the night the masterful figure of Reginald Clarke, toward whom he felt himself drawn with every fiber of his body and the warm enthusiasm of his generous youth.