He worked from choice, not from necessity, by which fact he lost a good deal of the charm of success, but also avoided possible temptations to pass his time in producing pot-boilers. He was able, without difficulty or hesitation, to enrich his mind and his sketch-book by travel. He had too large an ambition--perhaps it would be fairer to say, too true a love of his art--to stick at its drudgery, or content himself with half-hearted _dilettante_ study, and so far his independence had done him no harm; but it exposed him to some excusable bitterness from those of his fellows who saw prizes fall to him which meant bread to them. Perhaps in consequence of this barrier he had formed few--very few-- intimate friendships, and at thirty had learned a reserve and caution which at twenty had seemed foreign to his character. It may be said, indeed, that there were times when they still appeared foreign; for he had been known to commit odd freaks which looked as if the original nature were not quite flattened out of shape. So far as near relations were concerned, he had none; but he was a man of good family, and art is fashionable, so that he was in great demand for dinner-parties. Moreover, on Saturday afternoons it was understood that he received visitors, and, though he was careful not to make his hospitalities too expansive, people came, wandering about the great studio, asking the same questions, and making the same unintelligent remarks, until his patience threatened to fail. Sometimes he got in another painter to help him--a young fellow who, unlike Everitt, was only kept at work by the sheer necessity of living, but who had genius and the very lightest of hearts, and, being the most troublesome, was also the dearest to Everitt of all his comrades. He repaid some of this trouble by being always ready to take visitors off his hands, though Everitt more than suspected that in his mischievous moods he was quite reckless in the assertions with which he amazed them. All sorts of extraordinary remarks floated towards him in half-caught words. "Yes. Nice picturesque interior, isn't it? There were three children ill of scarlet fever in the room when Everitt painted it. He was only admitted on condition that he sat on the edge of the bed, and gave them their medicine at the proper hour. Long ago? Oh dear, no--not long. Everitt never sticks at anything which--" Somebody began to speak to Everitt, and he lost the remainder. Presently Jack Hibbert drifted again into hearing--