"I believe, though," said Delia, "that if I could shut myself up alone somewhere for a time with my violin, and no one to disturb me, I should be able to do something. I might not be satisfied, but oh, how happy I should be! As it is--" "As it is, you must do as greater souls have done before you," put in the Professor--"win your way towards your ideal through troubles and hindrances." "I don't get far, though," said Delia, mournfully. "Do you think you would get far by shutting yourself away from the common duties of your life?" said Mr Goodwin, in a kind voice. "It's a very poor sort of talent that wants petting and coaxing like that. Those great souls in the past who have taught us most, have done it while reaching painfully up to their vision through much that thwarted and baffled them. Their lives teach us as well as their art, and believe me, Delia, when the artist's life fails in duty and devotion, his art fails too in some way." "It is so hard to remember that all those dusty, little, everyday things matter," said Delia. "But if you think of what they stand for, they do matter very much. Call them self-discipline, and patience, and they are very important, above all, to an artist. I have heard people say," continued Mr Goodwin, reflectively, "that certain failings of temper and self-control are to be excused in artists, because their natures are sensitive. Now, that seems to me the very reason that they should be better than other people--more open to good influences. And I believe, when this has not been so, it has been owing rather to a smallness of character than to their artistic temperament." Delia smiled. "I don't know," she said, "if I have anything of an artist in me, but I have a small character, for I am always losing my temper--except when I am with you, Professor. If I talked to you every day, and had plenty of time to practise, I should have the good temper of an angel." "But not of a human being. That must come, not from outward things being pleasant, but from inward things being right. Believe an old man, my dear, who has had some trials and disappointments in his life, the best sort of happiness is his-- "Whose high endeavours are an inward light Which makes the path before him always bright. "Those endeavours may not bring fame or success, but they do bring light to shine on all those everyday things you call dusty, and turn them to gold." Delia stood by her music-stand, her eyes fixed with a far-away gaze on the window, and a rebellious little frown on her brow. "But I should _love_ to be famous," she suddenly exclaimed, reaching up her arms and clasping her hands behind her head. "Professor, I should _love_ it! Fancy being able to play so as to speak to thousands of people, and make them hear what you say; to make them glad one moment and sorry the next; to have it in your power to move a whole crowd, as some musicians have! It must be a splendid life. Shouldn't _you_ like it?"