of support! When the most trivial accident may at any time
prove fatal to one's power of work for weeks or months. No, that is the
unpardonable sin! To make a trade of an art! I am rightly served for
attempting such a brutal folly.'

He turned away in a passion of misery.

'How very silly it is to talk like this!' came in Amy's voice, clearly
critical. 'Art must be practised as a trade, at all events in our time.
This is the age of trade. Of course if one refuses to be of one's time,
and yet hasn't the means to live independently, what can result but
breakdown and wretchedness? The fact of the matter is, you could do
fairly good work, and work which would sell, if only you would bring
yourself to look at things in a more practical way. It's what Mr Milvain
is always saying, you know.'

'Milvain's temperament is very different from mine. He is naturally
light-hearted and hopeful; I am naturally the opposite.

What you and he say is true enough; the misfortune is that I can't act
upon it. I am no uncompromising artistic pedant; I am quite willing to
try and do the kind of work that will sell; under the circumstances it
would be a kind of insanity if I refused. But power doesn't answer
to the will. My efforts are utterly vain; I suppose the prospect of
pennilessness is itself a hindrance; the fear haunts me. With such
terrible real things pressing upon me, my imagination can shape nothing
substantial. When I have laboured out a story, I suddenly see it in
a light of such contemptible triviality that to work at it is an
impossible thing.'

'You are ill, that's the fact of the matter. You ought to have had a
holiday. I think even now you had better go away for a week or two. Do,
Edwin!'

'Impossible! It would be the merest pretence of holiday. To go away and
leave you here--no!'

'Shall I ask mother or Jack to lend us some money?'

'That would be intolerable.'

'But this state of things is intolerable!'

Reardon walked the length of the room and back again.

'Your mother has no money to lend, dear, and your brother would do it so
unwillingly that we can't lay ourselves under such an obligation.'

'Yet it will come to that, you know,' remarked Amy, calmly.

'No, it shall not come to that. I must and will get something done long
before Christmas. If only you--'

He came and took one of her hands.

'If only you will give me more sympathy, dearest. You see, that's one
side of my weakness. I am utterly dependen