"I would willingly exchange it all for two years' progress in my work. The mistakes began by poppa discovering I was a musical genius, and as I was just mad to do something big in the world, I believed him. The next discovery was mine--that I was a great writer, and when, two years after that, an artist friend declared some sketches of mine were full of inspiration, my enthusiasm for writing fizzed out immediately, and I rushed into painting, and over to Paris to study. Of course, I'm only in the student stage, but my professor has given me distinct encouragement. In my heart I really believe I should succeed if only----" She broke off with a curious laugh, but went on almost immediately: "If only I don't transfer my enthusiasm to sculpture before long. You see I know my little ways. Besides, the temptation to change is as strong as it possibly can be. It would be such a distinction to have completed the round of the arts." "Poetry would still be left untouched." "Oh, I've written poetry as well. That was part and parcel of my literary mania." "And naturally expired with it." "No. Let me confess. Poetry is the one thing I keep up in order to be able to feel I am made of fine stuff. It's the one unsaleable thing I devote my time to, and without it I should feel utterly ignoble. With all my ambition to achieve greatness, I am quite unable to say how much of my enthusiasm is due to the hope of accompanying dollars." Paul was startled for a moment, then laughed in high amusement at the idea of a railway king's daughter eking out her income by Art. "I mean it. I'm not as noble as I look, but thank you for the compliment all the same. If I have allowed myself any illusions on the point, they were all dissipated when I heard of the price a Salon picture sold for last year. My feeling of envy was too naked to be mistaken--naked and unashamed. I don't know if you've ever experienced the sort of thing--whether you've ever written poetry to keep your self-respect." "I fear writing poetry would be no test for me. I don't mean to imply that the result would _not_ be unsaleable," he added, smiling, "but that I am not so avaricious as you profess to be. I am quite satisfied that my work in life shall bring me no return." "I wish I were as fine as that," said Miss Brooke. "I am afraid I am far from being fine," said Paul, modestly. "I am simply content with my fortune. As you said before, one must do something to fill one's life. I am only too grateful for the prospect of being able to employ my energies. So you see I am really selfish at bottom." "We each appear to have a due sense of the clay in us, so let us agree we are neither of us precisely the saints we appear. But you've not yet told me in what particular way you purpose satisfying that selfishness of yours." "Thereby hangs a long tale," said Paul, laughing again. "It is connected with the family tradition I mentioned to you before."