leisure. They might think it a
pity you didn't have to work, but secretly, no matter what their
regard, they'd consider you negligible because you belong to a class
that is content to be, not to do. I assure you they consider
themselves the most important group in New York--in America--at
present: the life-giving group of suns round which far-off planets
humbly revolve."

"I see. You mean that my novelty would wear thin long before theirs.
Heaven knows I have little to give them. I should feel rather ashamed
sitting at the head of my table offering nothing but terrapin and
Gobelins. But don't you think I could make real friends of some of
them? Surely we would find much in common to talk about--and they
certainly take time to play, according to Uncle Din."

"I think there would always be a barrier. . . . Ah! I have an idea.
Why don't you set up a studio and take your painting seriously? Cut
yourself off from the old life and join the ranks of the real workers?
Then, by degrees, they would accept you as a matter of course. You
could return their hospitality in your studio, which could be one of
the largest--there is no danger of overwhelming them; they are too
successful themselves. Think it over."

Miss Goodrich's face, which had looked melancholy, almost hopeless, lit
up again. Her red mouth lifted at the corners, light seemed to pour
into her hazel eyes. "I'll do it!" she exclaimed. "I did a portrait
of father last month and it really is good. He is delighted with it,
and you know how easy he is to please! I wonder I never thought of it
before. You certainly are the most resourceful man in the world,
Lee--by the way, I hear there is a party at that wonderful Gora
Dwight's tonight. Do take me."

"Oh! . . . I'm so sorry . . . it's quite impossible, Anne. I wish I
could. . . . I'll take you to one next week. And meanwhile get to
work. Be ready to meet them in the outer court at least. You'll find
it an immense advantage--rob your advent of any suggestion of
curiosity."

"I'll look for a studio tomorrow. That is the way I do things--my
father's daughter, you see."

She spoke with gay determination, but her face had fallen again. In a
moment she began to draw on her gloves. "Now I'll have to run if I'm
to dress and get over to Old Westbury for dinner at eight. Thank you
so much, Lee; you've been a godsend. If I were a writer instead of a
mere dabbler in paints I'd dedicate my first book