Pauline was anxious to make excuses for the Rector to Guy, but Guy when he came round next day was only apologetic for his own father's behaviour; and he and she came to a conclusion in the end that parents must be forgiven on account of their age. "At the same time," Guy added, "I blame my father for his conventional outlook. He doesn't seem able to realize the extraordinary help that you are to my work. In fact he doesn't realize that my work _is_ work. He's been teaching for so many years that now he can no longer learn anything. Your father's behaviour is reasonable. He doesn't take us quite seriously, but he leaves the situation to our disentanglement. Well, we shall convince him that nothing in the world is so simple as a love like ours; but the worst of my father is that even if he were convinced he would be more annoying than ever." "You must make allowances, Guy. For one thing how few people, even when they're young, understand about love. Besides, he's anxious about your career." "What right has he to be anxious?" Guy burst out. "If I fail, I pay the penalty, not he." "But he would be so hurt if you failed," she urged. "Pauline, if you can say that, you can imagine that I will fail. Even you are beginning to have doubts." "I haven't any doubts," she whispered. "I know you will be famous. And yet I have doubts of another sort. I sometimes wonder if I shall be enough when you are famous." The question she had raised launched Guy upon a sea of eloquence. He worried no more about his father, but only protested his dependence upon Pauline's love for everything that he would ever have accomplished. "Yes, but I think I shall seem dull one day," she persisted with a shake of the head. "No, no. How could you seem dull to me?" "But I'm not clever...." "Avoid that wretched word," he cried. "It can only be applied to thieves, politicians and lawyers. I have told you a thousand times what you are to me, and I will not tell you again because I don't want to be an egotist. I don't want to represent you to myself as a creature that exists _for_ me. You are a being to whom I aspire. If we live for ever I shall have still to aspire to you and never be nearer than the hope of deserving you." "But your poetry, Guy, are you sure I appreciate it? Are you sure I'm not just a silly little thing lost in admiration of whatever you do?" Guy brushed her doubts aside. "Poetry is life trembling on the edge of human expression," he declared. "You are my life, and my poor verse faints in its powerlessness to say so. I always must be alone to blame if the treasure that you are is not proved to the world."