In the inner drawing-room he found his two cousins, Algernon and Philippa. The former, a young man of three-or four-and-twenty, was possessed of a tall figure, but rather too small a head. He smiled a good deal, and talked with an easy confidence common to his circle of friends. It was a handsome face, but it did not suggest possibilities of work. Leonard asked him how he was getting on. “Always the same,” he replied, with a laugh. “The study of the dramatic art presents endless difficulties. That is why we are loaded up with plays.” “Then it remains for you to show the world what a play should be.” “That is my mission. I shall continue my studies for a year or so more; and then--you shall see. My method is to study the art on the stage itself, not in books. I go to men and women on the stage. I sit in various parts of the stalls and watch and learn. Presently I shall sit down to write.” “Well, I look forward to the result.” “Look here, Leonard”--he dropped his voice. “I hear that you go to see the old man sometimes. He is nearly ninety-five. He can’t last much longer. Of course the estate is yours. But how about the accumulations.” “I know nothing about the accumulations.” “With the pater’s large practice and our share of the accumulations, don’t you think it is too bad of him to keep up this fuss about my work? Why should I trouble my head about money? There will be--there must be--plenty of money. My work,” he said proudly, “shall be, at least, the work of one who is not driven by the ignoble stimulus of necessity. It will be entirely free from the ignoble stimulus of necessity. It will be free from the commercial taint--the curse of art--the blighting incubus of art--the degrading thought of money.” Leonard left him. In the doorway stood his cousin Philippa. “You have just been talking to Algernon,” she said. “You see, he is always stretching out his hands in the direction of dramatic art.” “So I observe,” he replied dryly. “Some day, perhaps, he will grasp it. At present, as you say, he is only stretching out arms in that direction. And you?” “I have but one dream--always one dream,” she replied, oppressed with endeavour. “I hope it will come true, then. By the way, Philippa, I have just found a whole family of new cousins.” “New cousins? Who are they?” “And a great aunt. I have seen one of the cousins; and I am going to-morrow to see the great-aunt and perhaps the other cousin.” “Who are they? If they are your cousins, they must be cousins on papa’s side. I thought that we three were the only cousins on his side.” “Your uncle Fred may have children. Have you asked him if he is married?” “No; he has promised to tell all his adventures. He is a bachelor. Is it not interesting to get another uncle, and a bachelor, and rolling in money? Algernon has already----” She stopped, remembering a warning. “But who are these cousins?” “Prepare for a shock to the family pride.”