"I'm sure I don't know. You show more subtlety in that one question than I have shown in my whole string of affirmations. You women are strong on asking witty questions. Seriously, I believe I _am_ a common fellow. I wouldn't make the admission to every one though. But to you, Miss Moore, who sit there under your parasol as impartial as the Muse of History, to you I own the truth. I'm no man of genius. There is something I miss; some final distinction I lack; you may call it what you please. Perhaps it's humility. Perhaps you can find it in Ruskin, somewhere. Perhaps it's patience--perhaps it's imagination. I'm vulgar, Miss Moore. I'm the vulgar son of vulgar people. I use the word, of course, in its strictest sense. So much I grant you at the outset, and then I walk ahead." "Have you any sisters?" "Not a sister; and no brothers, nor cousins, nor uncles, nor aunts." "And you sail for Europe to-morrow?" "To-morrow, at ten o'clock." "To be away how long?" "As long as I possibly can. Five years if possible." "What do you expect to do in those five years?" "Study." "Nothing but study?" "It will all come back to that, I fancy. I hope to enjoy myself reasonably, and to look at the world as I go. But I must not waste time; I'm growing old." "Where are you going?" "To Berlin. I wanted to get letters from your brother." "Have you money? Are you well off?" "Well off? Not I, no. I'm poor. I travel on a little money that has just come to me from an unexpected quarter: an old debt owing my father. It will take me to Germany and keep me for six months. After that I shall work my way." "Are you happy? Are you contented?" "Just now I'm pretty comfortable, thank you." "But will you be so when you get to Berlin?" "I don't promise to be contented; but I'm pretty sure to be happy." "Well!" said Adela, "I sincerely hope you may be." "Amen!" said Ludlow.