and recognized as apart! Only that can make life worth the
living." She had been heard to say, "I would rather sink forever in the
sea than in the sea of humanity. I would rather die than be one of the
unknown living." Charmian sometimes exaggerated. But she was genuinely
tormented by the modern craze for notoriety. Only she called it fame.

Once she had said something to her mother of her intense desire to
emerge from the crowd. Mrs. Mansfield's reply was: "Do you believe you
have creative force in you then?" "How can I know?" Charmian had
answered. "I'm so young." "Try to create something and probably you'll
soon find out," returned her mother. Since that day Charmian had tried
to create something, and had found out. But she had not told Mrs.
Mansfield. She was now twenty-one, and had been just eighteen when her
mother's advice had driven her into the energy which had proved futile.

Max Elliot crossed the room and sat down on the sofa by Mrs. Mansfield.
He adored her quite openly, as many men did. The fact that she was a
widow and would never marry again made adoration of her agreeably
uncomplex. Everybody knew that Mrs. Mansfield would never marry again,
but nobody perhaps could have given a perfectly clear explanation of
how, or why, that knowledge had penetrated him. The truth was that she
was a woman with a great heart, and had given that heart to the husband
who was dead, and for whom she had never worn "weeds."

"What are we to do for Charmian, my dear Max?" continued Mrs. Mansfield,
throwing a piteous look into her mobile face, a piteous sound into her
voice. "What can anyone do for a young woman of twenty-one who, when she
is thinking naturally, thinks it impossible for a West of England banker
to cause the birth of a son talented in an art?"

"I always said there was intellectual cruelty in mother," said Charmian,
drawing her armchair nearer to the fire.

"It's bracing, tones up the mind," said Paul Lane. "But what about this
new note? All we know is a Cornish extraction, a banker papa and a Te
Deum."

"Oh--a Te Deum!" observed Mrs. Mansfield, looking suddenly sceptical.

"I know! I know!" said Max Elliot. "I didn't want to hear it till I had
heard it. And then I wanted to hear nothing else. The touch of genius
startles everything into life."

"Another genius!" said Paul Lane.

And thereupon, as if acting on a sudden impulse, he got up, said
good-bye, and went away with his curiosity, if he had any