"No. You see, I had always been told how hard that life was, and I suppose I rather shared my father's belief that it wasn't respectable. Warburton found my mother its most interesting citizen, while it disapproved of her entirely. She was just a simple, frail woman, but to Warburton she was a brand plucked from the burning, and her past was never to be forgotten." "Was your father in love with her, or was it the romance of her profession which attracted him?" "Father was very religious. I think he married her to save her soul. He was as kind to her as he knew how to be, but he never understood her." "And you?" "I loved her and took care of her. She was my child from the time I was a baby. I acted as interpreter to my father, whom I understood, too, in a way. He was a dour, silent man, but just." "I get the picture of both of them," he nodded. "Can I write?" she demanded bluntly. "How long have you been working at that desk?" "Five years." She drew a big packing box from under the bed. It was full of manuscripts. He looked at it with deep interest. "You've told nobody, offered nothing for sale in those years?" "Not since my first editor, who gave me such good advice." "It is incredible." "Is the time wasted?" she asked. "No. Work is never wasted, and of course you are destined to write." "Am I?" she cried. The quality in her voice, of rapture and strain, made him look at her. "My child, how you care!" he said, laying his hand on hers. She nodded, with wet eyes. "I have been profoundly interested in the things you gave me to read. I want more, much more. There are certain undoubted qualities--an astonishing vocabulary, a fine sense of words. You are a _gourmet_ for choice words, rich words, words fat with meaning. You've a pretty good sense of form. I can fairly analyze your literary diet. 'Ha, now she's devouring Molière,' I would say to myself, or, 'she's overeating the Russians.'" Jane laughed happily. "As a specialist, I must say that you are overfed and undernourished. You read too much and live too little. You look out on life from this white cell. Do you see what I mean?" "Yes, yes; but what can I do?"