"But you artists have to expect these adverse experiences," said Mr. Robinson. "Art of course isn't like other things--it isn't exactly a business or profession in the ordinary sense, and so long as a man has the gift, he ought not to get disheartened. In our business world, of course, pounds, shillings and pence are everything, but in the world of art it wouldn't do to set up a standard of that kind." Such sentiments on the part of a Philistine who came home every evening from the City at six o'clock struck Wyndham speechless. "The struggle of genius is proverbial," Mr. Robinson added, before the younger man could find his tongue; "and genius wouldn't be genius without it." "Ah, if I were only a genius!" said Wyndham, laughing. "I am sure you are a genius," said the old man very gravely. "I have often thought what a clever face yours was. At home we have often spoken of you." "I suppose then I must be a conspicuous figure in the road. I had no idea of it!" Wyndham laughed again. "You've been in the neighbourhood some years now," said Mr. Robinson half apologetically; "and neighbours naturally notice one another. Besides, if I may say so, you are quite unlike the ordinary run of people. You are not the sort of man one sees in the City." "You interest me. In what way do I differ from others?" "You have the stamp of belonging to leisured people; it is plain from your walk and bearing, from your voice and manner of speech. And then there is something about your clothes even--I don't quite know what." The old man's eyes rested on him with a sort of approval and satisfaction. Wyndham was amused. "You are really an original character," he exclaimed. "I like you." Mr. Robinson smiled with gratification. "I more than return the compliment, I can assure you." "But pray go on," said Wyndham. "I believe you're a wizard. I must get you to cast my horoscope." Mr. Robinson raised his hands. "I don't think I could manage that," he laughed. "I am only a quiet observer of my fellow-men. In the present case it is very easy to see that yours is the face of a gentleman by birth. There is a certain composure in your whole style. Whatever you had to face, you would never have that appearance that men get in the City--of wearing themselves out." "Better to wear out than to rust out," said Wyndham meditatively. "I rust out." He was astonished at his own frankness. But there was a deep pleasure in being natural for once, in throwing off the cover of sham and pretence that had characterised his intercourse with his kind in the past. He did not even consider it was strange that the person he should be baring himself to so freely was one whose existence hitherto he had merely deigned to notice. But nothing could exceed Mr. Robinson's amazement at this last profession of his. "Rust out!" The old man's eyes opened wide. "Why, you have done an immense amount of work!" He waved his hand significantly towards the army of canvasses ranged against the walls.