Biddy for a while said nothing and they continued their tour of observation. She noticed how he passed over some things quickly, his first glance sufficing to show him if they were worth another, and then recognised in a moment the figures that made some appeal. His tone puzzled but his certainty of eye impressed her, and she felt what a difference there was yet between them--how much longer in every case she would have taken to discriminate. She was aware of how little she could judge of the value of a thing till she had looked at it ten minutes; indeed modest little Biddy was compelled privately to add "And often not even then." She was mystified, as I say--Nick was often mystifying, it was his only fault--but one thing was definite: her brother had high ability. It was the consciousness of this that made her bring out at last: "I don't so much care whether or no I please mamma, if I please you." "Oh don't lean on me. I'm a wretched broken reed--I'm no use _really_!" he promptly admonished her. "Do you mean you're a duffer?" Biddy asked in alarm. "Frightful, frightful!" "So that you intend to give up your work--to let it alone, as you advise _me_?" "It has never been my work, all that business, Biddy. If it had it would be different. I should stick to it." "And you _won't_ stick to it?" the girl said, standing before him open-eyed. Her brother looked into her eyes a moment, and she had a compunction; she feared she was indiscreet and was worrying him. "Your questions are much simpler than the elements out of which my answer should come." "A great talent--what's simpler than that?" "One excellent thing, dear Biddy: no talent at all!" "Well, yours is so real you can't help it." "We shall see, we shall see," said Nick Dormer. "Let us go look at that big group." "We shall see if your talent's real?" Biddy went on as she accompanied him.