“No, he didn’t. I’ve looked up that question, but there’s nothing in it, don’t you know. No, the really great men come from the common people. The world doesn’t know where to look for them, but I do, and I find ’em just as I found this man. I go for my society to the aristocracy, but for my geniuses to the democracy.” “But if society does not produce great men, how do you hope to become the greatest of painters?” “Ah, painting’s a different thing, don’t you know; it has always been the gentleman’s art. Leonardo and all of those chaps were great swells. Rubens--or was it Titian?--one of them, anyhow, went as ambassador to the court of Spain in great pomp. Painters have always been the companions of kings. But I say, let us have another dance.” Once more the dreamy waltz music mingled with the swish-swish of silken skirts, sibilant on the polished floor. Langly nearly always lost himself in whatever music he played, but now it merely dulled his sorrow, and an undertone of deep grief lay beneath the frivolous harmony that rippled so smoothly and sweetly from the piano--an undertone heard by none save himself. Merry laughter, and now and then a whispered phrase as the dancers swung close to where he sat, fell on his unheeding ear, and he wished his task were done, so that he might face again the long walk lying before him. He chided himself as being ungrateful, when it seemed hard that at this time he should be called upon to minister to the amusement of a pleasure-loving party; for he remembered that the Hebrew had toiled seven years uncomplaining for the woman he loved: so why should he grudge an afternoon, when the object was practically the same, although hope cheered the longer task, and despair clouded the shorter. Each in his way laboured for his love, living and dead. The heavy hand of Barney came down boisterously on the thinly clad shoulder of the player, and partially aroused him from his bitter reverie. “First rate, my boy, first rate! You’ve done nobly, and every one is delighted--charmed!--they are indeed, I assure you. Now they’re saying good-by, so give us a rousing march for the farewell--anything you like--something of your own would be just the thing; you know what I mean--a march with a suggestion of regret in it--sorry they’re going, don’t you know.”