riendly artist's
praise could, therefore, not be taken as positive evidence of
incapacity.

"Ah, but I didn't do them--I kicked him out!" Caspar rejoined; and
Stanwell could only plead that, even in the cause of art, one could
hardly kick a lady.

"Ah, that's the worst of it. If the women get at you you're lost.
You're young, you're impressionable, you won't mind my saying that
you're not built for a stoic, and hang it, they'll coddle you, they'll
enervate you, they'll sentimentalize you, they'll make a Mungold of
you!"

"Ah, poor Mungold," Stanwell laughed. "If he lived the life of an
anchorite he couldn't help painting pictures that would please Mrs.
Millington."

"Whereas you could," Kate interjected, raising her head from the
ironing-board where, Sphinx-like, magnificent, she swung a splendid arm
above her brother's shirts.

"Oh, well, perhaps I shan't please her; perhaps I shall elevate her
taste."

Caspar directed a groan to his sister. "That's what they all think at
first--Childe Roland to the Dark Tower came. But inside the Dark Tower
there's the Venusberg. Oh, I don't mean that you'll be taken with
truffles and plush footmen, like Mungold. But praise, my poor
Ned--praise is a deadly drug! It's the absinthe of the artist--and
they'll stupefy you with it. You'll wallow in the mire of success."

Stanwell raised a protesting hand. "Really, for one order, you're a
little lurid!"

"One? Haven't you already had a dozen others?"

"Only one other, so far--and I'm not sure I shall do that."

"Not sure--wavering already! That's the way the mischief begins. If the
women get a fad for you they'll work you like a galley-slave. You'll
have to do your round of 'copy' every morning. What becomes of
inspiration then? How are you going to loaf and invite the soul? Don't
barter your birthright for a mess of pottage! Oh, I understand the
temptation--I know the taste of money and success. But look at me,
Stanwell. You know how long I had to wait for recognition. Well, now
it's come to me I don't mean to let it knock me off my feet. I don't
mean to let myself be overworked; I have already made it known that I
will not be bullied into taking more orders than I can do full justice
to. And my sister is with me, God bless her; Kate would rather go on
ironing my shirts in a garret than see me prostitute my art!"

Kate's glance radiantly confirmed this declaration of independence, and
Stanwell, with his evasive laugh, asked