this is pure art, it is a kind of art
only possible to an age in which the social question is predominant."

"True, very likely. Every strong individuality is more or less the
expression of its age. This direction may be imposed upon me; for all
that, I understand why I pursue it."

After reflecting, Julian spoke in another tone. "Imagine yourself in my
position. Could you appreciate the artistic effect of your own
circumstances?"

"Probably not. And it is because I recognise that, that I grow more and
more careful to hold aloof from situations that would threaten my peace
of mind. My artistic egotism bids fair to ally itself with vulgar
selfishness. That tendency I must resist. For the artist _ought_ to be
able to make material of his own sufferings, even while the suffering
is at its height. To what other end does he suffer? In very deed, he is
the only man whose misery finds justification in apparent result."

"I am not an artist," sighed Julian.

"On the contrary, I firmly believe that you are. And it makes me angry
to see the impulse dying in you."

"What am I to do?" Julian cried, almost with a voice of anguish. "I am
so helpless, so hopelessly fettered! Release is impossible. No words
could express the desperate struggles I go through when I recognise how
my life is being wasted and my powers, whatever they may be, numbed and
crushed. Something I might do, if I were free; I feel that! But there
is no hope of freedom. I shall fall into darker and darker depths of
weakness and ruin, always conscious of what I am losing. What will be
the end?"

"What the end will be, under the present circumstances, is only too
clear to me. But it might easily be averted?"

"How? Give me some practical advice, Waymark! Let us talk of the matter
freely. Tell me what you would do!"

Waymark thought for a moment.

"Does there seem any chance of her health being permanently improved?"
he asked.

"I can't say. She says she is better. It's no use my asking the
doctors; they despise me, and would not think of treating me with any
consideration."

"Why don't you do this?" began Waymark, after another pause. "Use all
means to find some convalescent home where she can be received when she
leaves the hospital. Then, if her fits and the rest of it still
continue, find some permanent place for her. You can afford it. Never
mind if it reduces you for a time to a garret and a crust."

"She would refuse to go to such places," said