"Serious and sweet," said Kingsley; "remember that. We must not have one without the other. The fact is, I dare say, that I never thought of what I was to be, because I did not see the necessity of troubling myself about it. My father was a rich man; everybody spoke of him as a millionaire, and spoke the truth for once; and all my college chums envied me my luck. But for that it may be that I should have applied myself, and ripened into a poet or a painter, or something that would come in useful now. Nothing very superior, perhaps, in any line, because, my dear, you will be surprised when I confess to you that I do not regard myself as an out-of-the-way brilliant fellow. But there's no telling, is there, what may come out of a fellow if he puts his shoulder to the wheel?" "Something good would be sure to come out of such a head as yours, Kingsley," said Nansie. "You _will_ flatter me, my dear; but, after all, you may be right. There are no end of clever men who were dull boys at school, and thought to have nothing in them; though, now I think of it, I was not at all a dull boy--rather bright, indeed, really, Nansie--and the fact that dullards often prove themselves geniuses is rather against me. Do you know what I've been told? That there is a lot of stuff in me, but that I lack application; that is, the power of sticking long to one thing. That is true, perhaps, and it is that quality, or failing, or what you like, that makes me fly off at a tangent in the way I am in the habit of doing. I've stuck pretty close to this conversation, haven't I?" "Yes, dear." "Notwithstanding that there are a thousand things to distract my attention. For instance, thoughts. Such as this: that it would be a happy lot if you and I could wander forever side by side through such lovely scenes as this, and in a night so sweet and beautiful." "But that could not be, Kingsley, dear, and I am not sure whether it would be a happy lot." "You surprise me, Nansie. Not a happy lot! Our being always together, and always without worry or trouble!" "In course of time," said Nansie, a slight contraction of her eyelids denoting that she was thinking of what she was saying, "we should grow so used to each other that we should become in each other's eyes little better than animated statues. The monotony of its being always summer, of everything around us being always beautiful, would so weigh upon us that we should lose all sense of the beautiful, and should not be grateful for the sweet air, as we are now, Kingsley. We grow indifferent to things to which we are regularly accustomed. Change produces beauty. You are making me think, you see, and I am almost pretending to be wise." "Go on, Nansie. I want you to finish, and when you have done I have something to say on an observation you have made, change produces beauty. Now that is a theme profound."