t all events," said Barty, who was
not pleased.

"I'm sure Miss Gibson's good enough for _anybody in the world_!"
said Julia. "She's the most beautiful girl I ever saw!" and she gave
Barty a cup of tea.

Barty drank it, and felt fond of Julia, and bade them all good-bye,
and went and waited in the hall of the Koenig's Hotel for his
friends, and took them back to Duesseldorf.

Next day the Gibsons started for their little trip up the Rhine, and
Barty was left to his own reflections, and he reflected a great
deal; not about what he meant to do himself, but about how he should
tell Martia what he meant to do.

As for himself, his mind was thoroughly made up: he would break at
once and forever with a world he did not properly belong to, and
fight his own little battle unaided, and be a painter--a good one,
if he could. If not, so much the worse for him. Life is short.

When he would have settled his affairs and paid his small debts in
Duesseldorf, he would have some ten or fifteen pounds to the good. He
would go back to London with the Gibsons and Ida Maurice. There were
no friends for him in the world like the Maurices. There was no
woman for him in the world like Leah, whether she would ever care
for him or not.

Rich or poor, he didn't mind! she was Leah; she had the hands, the
feet, the lips, the hair, the eyes! That was enough for him! He was
absolutely sure of his own feelings; absolutely certain that this
path was not only the pleasant path he liked, but the right one for
a man in his position to follow: a thorny path indeed, but the
thorns were thorns of roses!

All this time he was busily rehearsing his part in the chorus of
_Iphigenia_; he had applied for the post of second tenor chorister;
the conditions were that he should be able to read music at sight.
This he could not do, and his utter incapacity was tested at the
Mahlcasten, before a crowd of artists, by the conductor. Barty
failed signally, amid much laughter; and he impudently sang quite a
little tune of his own, an improvisation.

The conductor laughed too; but Barty was admitted all the same; his
voice was good, and he must learn his part by heart--that was all;
anybody could teach him.

The Gibsons came back to Duesseldorf in time for the performance,
which was admirable, in spite of Barty. From his coign of vantage,
amongst the second tenors, he could see Julia's head with its golden
fleece; Julia, that rose without a thorn--

"Het