studio?"

"I mean in my daily life."

She became reflective. "I hate to go, and that's the truth of it. I am
just beginning to feel my grip tighten on this material. I know I could
do some good work here, but really I was frightened at papa's condition
this afternoon. He is better now, but I can see that he is failing. If
he insists on campaigning I must go with him--but, oh, how I hate it!
Think of standing up and shaking hands with all these queer people for
months! I oughtn't to feel so, of course, but I can't help it. I've no
patience with people who are half-baked, neither bread nor dough. I
believe I like old Mary and Two Horns better."

"I fear you are voicing a mood, not a conviction. We ought not to
condemn any one;" he paused a moment, then added: "I don't like you to
even _say_ cruel things. It hurts me. As I look round this room I see
nothing which has to do with duty or conviction or war or politics.
There is peace and beauty here. You belong in this atmosphere; you are
fitted to your environment. I admit that I was fired at first with a
desire to convert you to my ways of thought; now, when a sense of duty
troubles you, takes you away from the joy of your art, I question
myself. You are too beautiful to wear yourself out in problems. I now
say, remain an artist. There is something idyllic about your artist life
as I now understand it. It is simple and childlike. In that respect it
seems to have less troublesome questions of right or wrong to decide
than science. Its one care seems to be, 'What will produce and preserve
beauty, and so assuage the pain of the world?' No question of money or
religion or politics--just the pursuit of an ideal in a sheltered nook."

"You have gone too far the other way, I fear," she said, sadly. "Our
lives, even at the best, are far from being the ideal you present. It
seems very strange to me to hear you say those things--"

"I have given the matter much thought," he replied. "If I have made you
think of the woes of the world, so you have shown me glimpses of a life
where men and women are almost free from care. We are mutually
instructed." He rose at this point and, after hesitation, said: "When
you go I wish you would leave this room just as it is, and when I am
tired and irritable and lonely I'll come here and imagine myself a part
of your world of harmonious colors, with no race questions to settle and
no harsh duties to perform. Will you do this? These few hangings a