uriosity's the highest
possible tribute to my little attempt and your sympathy sets me right
with myself. There she is again," Nick went on, thrusting the picture
into an empty frame; "you shall see her whether you wish to or not."

"Right with yourself? You don't mean to say you've been wrong!" Peter
returned, standing opposite the portrait.

"Oh I don't know. I've been kicking up such a row. Anything's better
than a row."

"She's awfully good--she's awfully true," said Peter. "You've done more
to her since the other day. You've put in several things."

"Yes, but I've worked distractedly. I've not altogether conformed to the
good rule about being off with the old love."

"With the old love?"--and the visitor looked hard at the picture.

"Before you're on with the new!" Nick had no sooner uttered these words
than he coloured: it occurred to him his friend would probably infer an
allusion to Julia. He therefore added quickly: "It isn't so easy to
cease to represent an affectionate constituency. Really most of my time
for a fortnight has been given to letter-writing. They've all been
unexpectedly charming. I should have thought they'd have loathed and
despised me. But not a bit of it; they cling to me fondly--they struggle
with me tenderly. I've been down to talk with them about it, and we've
passed the most sociable, delightful hours. I've designated my
successor; I've felt a good deal like the Emperor Charles the Fifth when
about to retire to the monastery of Yuste. The more I've seen of them in
this way the more I've liked them, and they declare it has been the same
with themselves about me. We spend our time assuring each other we
hadn't begun to know each other till now. In short it's all wonderfully
jolly, but it isn't business. _C'est magnifique, mais ce n'est pas la
guerre_."

"They're not so charming as they might be if they don't offer to keep
you and let you paint."

"They do, almost--it's fantastic," said Nick. "Remember they haven't
yet seen a daub of my brush."

"Well, I'm sorry for you; we live in too enlightened an age," Peter
returned. "You can't suffer for art--that grand romance is over. Your
experience is interesting; it seems to show that at the tremendous pitch
of civilisation we've reached you can't suffer from anything but
hunger."

"I shall doubtless," Nick allowed, "do that enough to make up for the
rest."

"Never, never, when you paint so well as this."

"Oh come, you're too good