You never did me
justice as an artist, though you did me far more than justice as a
woman. Why was that?"

"Didn't I? I'm sorry. Nevertheless, I'm not sure that you are right. I
was always intensely interested in your pictures because they were
yours, quite apart from their own undoubted merits."

"That was just it; you admired my pictures because they were painted by
me, while you really ought to have admired me because I had painted the
pictures."

A look of amusement stole over Christopher's face. "Then I fell short of
your requirements, dear heart; for, as far as you and your works were
concerned, I certainly never committed the sin of worshipping the
creature rather than the creator."

"But there was a time when I wanted you to do so."

"As a matter of fact," said Christopher thoughtfully, "I don't believe a
man who loves a woman can ever appreciate her genius properly, because
love is greater than genius, and so the greater swallows up the less. In
the eyes of the world, her genius is the one thing which places a woman
of genius above her fellows, and the world worships it accordingly. But
in the eyes of the man who loves her, she is already placed so far above
her fellows that her genius makes no difference to her altitude. Thirty
feet makes all the difference in the height of a weather-cock, but none
at all in the distance between the earth and a fixed star."

"What a nice thing to say! I adore you when you say things like that."

Christopher continued: "You see, the man is interested in the woman's
works of art simply because they are hers; just as he is interested in
the rustle of her silk petticoat simply because it is hers. Possibly he
is more interested in the latter, because men can paint pictures
sometimes, and they can never rustle silk petticoats properly. You are
right in thinking that the world adores you for the sake of your
creations, while I adore your creations for the sake of you; but you
must also remember that the world would cease to worship you if your
genius began to decline, while I should love you just the same if you
took to painting sign-posts and illustrating Christmas cards--even if
you became an impressionist."

"What a dear boy you are! You really are the greatest comfort to me. I
didn't always feel like this, but now you satisfy me completely, and
fill up every crevice of my soul. There isn't a little space anywhere in
my mind or heart or spirit that isn't simply bursting