"Were you in earnest when you said that you had not published anything?" "Yes. I have never even offered anything." "Why?" She told him of her talk with the editor, when she came first to New York, of his advice, of his words of inspiration about the art to which she wished to devote herself. He listened with deep interest. "Ah! that was good. That was sound idealism. And what have you done to prepare yourself?" "Read much, tried to absorb the best styles; and I have written all the time." "About what?" "People." "People you know, or people you create?" "Both; but more of the ones I create." "I wish you would let me see something. It would give me pleasure and it might help you." "Of course it would, but I wouldn't dare show you my things," she began. "My child, the time comes when the artist becomes too self-conscious, with no criticism, no audience as corrective. Suppose we make a compact of friendship together; then we can freely give and take from each other." A sudden mist clouded her eyes. She let him see it, in the direct glance she gave him. It touched him deeply, it suggested so poignantly the woman's loneliness. "You agree?" he asked gently. "Oh, yes." "The World and his Wife are my acquaintances, but of friends I have few. Is it so with you?" "I have none." "How can that be? I feel that you would have a talent for friendship." "I believe I would have. But I am poor. The things I might offer would not interest the people I know." "But these artists--aren't they congenial?" "Miss Roberts would be, but you see I occupy an anomalous position here. I'm an upper servant, who is no servant. True to my group, I have my class distinctions," she smiled. "Miss Roberts ignores them. She would be my friend if I would let her. Some of the others would, too, I think." "Pride is one of the strongest traits in human character, and one of the least desirable; don't you think so? Pride of possession, pride of class, of birth, of accomplishment; why do we build up these barriers between us, when the whole process of life should be to break them down, to get closer to one another, to understand and help?" "You think pride is out of fashion?" "Just that. We treasure so many outgrown virtues, which have become vices. Patriotism, for instance. The rulers of Europe crash half the world into war by decking out this old scarecrow. My country, right or wrong, better than your country: our citizens, better than your citizens. What nonsense! Europe fights to protect the fatherland. What, in fact, is Europe protecting? The greed of kings for power and territory?" "I know, and the people who make the war, and who gain by it, are never the ones who fight it." "Exactly. An Englishman said to me the other day: 'The British Government's idea of the way for a rich Briton to be a patriot is to induce the poor men who work for him to go to war.'" "It isn't much of a national virtue, if it is confined to a class," Jane agreed.