"Never mind that, mother dear; I shall have money to buy nice clothes presently. I want to cultivate what I feel is within me, I want to cultivate the love which ought to become a power. I love pictures; I love dabbling with paints; my brush ought to be able to tell stories, and it shall when once I have mastered the technical difficulties. I want to go to a school of art in London, to begin at the beginning, and work my way up. I should like best to go to the Slade School." My mother opened her lips to speak. I interrupted her. "I know what you are going to say. There is no money. I have thought that part out very carefully. Mother, you _must_ consent! Just for a little bit of pride my whole life must not be spoiled. Mother dear, it _is_ dull at home, and I do so long for this. Let me go and see Cousin Geoffrey." My mother started when I said this. I knew she would, for Cousin Geoffrey's name had always a potent, curious charm in our home. It was a name both of awe and admiration, and I felt quite sure when I spoke it that I should secure immediate and profound attention. Not that I had ever seen Cousin Geoffrey. I had heard of him all my life, but I had never yet laid eyes on him. No one who was at all intimate with my mother could be long in her presence without hearing about Cousin Geoffrey. She had the sweetest, most contented face in the world, but it generally took an expression of melancholy mixed with envy and profound awe when she spoke of this relative. "Talk of riches!" she would say. "Ah, you ought to know Geoffrey! My dears," she would constantly remark, "if I were your Cousin Geoffrey I could give you so-and-so, but as it is,--" then she would sigh, and her eyes would sometimes fill with tears. Of course, my brothers and I were intensely curious about Cousin Geoffrey; all the more so because we had never seen him--beyond knowing that he lived somewhere in London, we were not even aware of his address. We never dared speak of him in my father's presence. Once I, impelled by an irresistible longing to break the overpowering dulness, had whispered his name. My mother had turned pale, my brothers had instantly kicked me violently under the table, and my father left the room, not to return again that night. Of course, I did not mention Cousin Geoffrey's name any more when my father was present, but not the less did I think of him. He began to assume to me more and more the character of a deliverer, and when I made my resolution I decided that he should be my weapon with which I would fight my way to success. We never do know how our dreams are going to be fulfilled. Certainly nothing happened as I expected it. It took me exactly a week to talk my mother round. I may mention, in passing, that there was no damson jam that year. We spent all our mornings in the little parlour; I talked very hard, my mother listened very sorrowfully.