hat
I'm saving it up. One of these days I daresay I shall go off to Rome or
Venice, and recuperate from several points of view. I daresay a bit of
luck will be coming my way presently, and I'm keen on getting back to
Italy again. I've often planned it out. A month or so at Paris, a couple
of months in the South of France, three at Rome, and three at
Venice--with a look-in at Naples some time, of course."

"What a lovely holiday that would be!" He did not surprise her quick
flash of longing. Both remained pensive.

"But tell me about everybody," he said at last. "You see I take more
interest in them all than they suppose."

"That's natural enough. After all, Hertfordshire's your home."

He winced visibly, half sorry that he had set her mind in that
direction. She, however, proceeded to draw for him various pictures, and
he presently found himself listening with a deeper eagerness than he had
foreseen. She brought him close again to his own world, uplifted him in
his own eyes: he had almost the sensation of being restored to a sphere
which it had been more painful to abandon than he had ever admitted.
The minutes passed, bringing him a warm, happy sense of social
comradeship with his sister. The little fire burned brightly, and the
feeling of the well-ordered nest was fragrant and exquisite. He felt his
bitterness softening under its influence; a deep peace seemed to
surround him, filling the little haven, radiating from Mary's wistful
face, from her gentle smile and voice. How thankful he was this terrible
London yet held her sympathy!

"It is a great thing for me to have you to come to, Mary," he broke in
on her suddenly. "It helps me tremendously."

"Poor Walter!" she breathed. Her eyes filled with tears.

For a moment both were too moved to speak again. But abruptly, as with a
courage and firmness long since resolved upon, she looked straight at
him.

"Why don't you give it up, darling? This art is ruining your life."

He did not seem surprised at this sudden turn of the conversation,
though such a suggestion had never before fallen from her lips. He took
her words as a cry of despair rather than an attempt at a stern
reckoning.

"Why don't I give it up?" he echoed. "That's an easy question to ask.
The answer is difficult. But I can't give it up. It is impossible."

"It is not so impossible as it seems."

"What can I turn to? I am fitted for nothing."

"Go to the Colonies. Labour on the soil--or work w