Margaret looked up in surprise, but Lynn was pacing back and forth with his hands clasped behind him and his head down. "Why not, dear?" she asked, very gently. "Well," he sighed, "I don't believe I'm ever going to make anything of it. Of course I can play--Herr Kaufmann says, if it satisfies me to play the music as it is written, he can teach me that much, but he hasn't a very good opinion of me. I'd rather be a first-class carpenter than a second-rate violinist, and I'm twenty-three--it's time I was choosing." Margaret's heart misgave her, but she spoke bravely. "Lynn, look at me." He turned, and his eyes met hers, openly and unashamed. "Tell me the truth--do you want to be an artist?" "Mother, I'd rather be an artist than anything else in the world." "Then, dear, keep at it, and don't get discouraged. Somebody said once that the only reason for a failure was that the desire to succeed was not strong enough." Lynn laughed mirthlessly. "If that is so," he said, moodily, "I shall not fail." "No," she answered, "you shall not fail. I won't let you fail," she added, impulsively. "I know you and I believe in you." "The worst of it," Lynn went on, "would be to disappoint you." Margaret drew his tall head down and rubbed her cheek against his. "You could not disappoint me," she said, serenely, "for all I ask of you is your best. Give me that, and I am satisfied." "You've always had that, mother," he returned, with a forced laugh. "When you strike a snag, I suppose the only thing to do is to drive on, so we'll let it go at that. I'll keep on, and do the best I can. If worst comes to worst, I can play in a theatre orchestra." "Don't!" cried Margaret; "you'll never have to do that!" "Well," sighed Lynn, "you can never tell what's coming, and in the meantime it's almost twelve o'clock." With the happy faculty of youth, Lynn was asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. Iris lay with her eyes wide open, staring into the dark, inert and helpless under the influence of that anodyne which comes at the end of a hurt, simply through lack of the power to suffer more. The three letters under her pillow brought a certain sense of comfort. In the midst of the darkness which surrounded her, someone knew, someone understood--loved her, and was content to wait. Margaret was troubled because of Lynn's disbelief in himself. His sunny self-confidence was apparently put to rout by this new phase. Then she remembered that they had all passed through a time of stress, that Lynn, strong and self-reliant as he had been, must have felt it, too, and, moreover, the artistic temperament in itself was inclined to various eccentricities.