e? And yet what hope was there of making a real living? He had never
specialized in anything, and the world was calling for specialists and
discarding the others. Another point to consider: Foot-loose for seven
years, could he stand the shackles of office work, routine, the sameness
day in and day out? He was returning to the States without the least idea
what he wanted to do; that was the disturbing phase of it. If only he were
keen for something! A typical son of the rich man. The only point in his
favour was that he had not spent his allowances up and down Broadway. No,
he would never touch a dollar of that money. That was final.

What lay back of this sudden desire to make good in the world? Love! There
wasn't the slightest use in lying to himself. He wanted Jane Norman with
all the blood in his body, with all the marrow in his bones; and he had
nothing to offer her but empty hands.

He shot a glance toward the bridge. And because he had no right to
speak--obligated to silence by two reasons--that easy-speaking scoundrel
might trap her fancy. It could not be denied that he was handsome, but he
was nevertheless a rogue. The two reasons why he must not speak were
potent. In the first place, he had nothing to offer; in the second place,
the terror she was no doubt hiding bravely would serve only to confuse
her--that is, she might confuse a natural desire for protection with
something deeper and tenderer, and then discover her mistake when it was
too late.

What was she going to ask of his father when the time came for reparation?
That puzzled him.

He made the rounds steadily for an hour, and during this time Jane
frequently looked over the top of the manuscript she was reading aloud. At
length she laid the manuscript upon her knees.

"Mr. Cleigh, what is it that makes art treasures so priceless?"

"Generally the depth of the buyer's purse. That is what they say of me in
the great auction rooms."

"But you don't buy them just because you are rich enough to outbid
somebody else?"

"No, I am actually fond of all the treasures I possess. Aside from this,
it is the most fascinating game there is. The original! A painting that
Holbein laid his own brushes on, mixed his own paint for! I have then
something of the man, tangible, visible; something of his beautiful
dreams, his poverty, his success. There before me is the authentic labour
of his hand, which was guided by the genius of his brain--before machinery
spoile