As the holiday season approached, without any change in my circumstances other than a steady diminution of my bank account, I came to the conclusion that the only possible move was toward New York and that I should have to ask Henry to advance me the money for it. In view of what came to me afterward it was a reasonable proposition, but I reckoned without that extraordinary blankness to the processes of art which is common to those most entertained by it. It was a day or two after Christmas, from which I had been excused by my recent bereavement, that I went out to dinner there with the determination to bring something to pass commensurate with their usual attitude of high admiration for and confidence in my gift. We had gone into the library after dinner, at least it was a room that went by that name, though I don't know for what reason except that Henry smoked there and the furniture was upholstered in leather, as in Evanston it was indispensable that all libraries should be. Here and there were touches that suggested that if Henry moved his income up a notch or two, Pauline's taste might not be able to keep pace with it. Henry warmed his back at the gas log and wished to know how things went with me. "As well as I could expect them _here_. I've made up my mind to try for New York as soon as I can manage it." "What's the matter with Chicago?" Henry's manner implied that whatever you believed about it, you'd have to show him. "Well, I'd have to be capitalized to do anything here the same as in New York, and the field there is larger." I went on to explain something of what the metropolis had to offer. "I guess the worst thing about Chicago is that you're out of a job. People don't get sore on a place where they are doing well." "No. They generally light out for a place where there are more jobs." I thought I should get on better if I took Henry in his own key, but he forged ahead of me. "If there's anything the matter with your acting, why don't you ask somebody?" "There's nobody to ask. Besides, there isn't anything the matter with it; the matter is with me." "Well, I must say I don't see the difference." "Oh!" I cried. I hadn't realized that they wouldn't just take my word for it. "It is because I am empty--empty!" I trailed off, seeing how wide I was of his understanding. I shouldn't have questioned Henry Mills's word about the capitalization of a joint stock company; and I resented their discounting my own statement of my difficulties. Pauline got hold of my hand and patted it. I wondered if it was because all her own crises were complicated with Henry Mills that she always thought that affectionateness was part of the answer. "It is only that, with all your Gift, Henry can't understand how you need anything else," she extenuated. "I need food and clothes," I blurted out; "pretty soon I shall need a lodging."