“My dear Wade!” exclaimed Richmond, all enthusiasm. “But you must be generous with me. You must let me give you something in return. You know how burdensome a sense of unacquitted obligation is. All I have to give is money, unfortunately. You must let me give that. It is the right of you fellows to expect it from us fellows. It’s our privilege to give it.” Roger, unaware of the many sides to the extraordinary man seated opposite him, was wholly unprepared for so adroit and graceful and sensible a speech. He could only make an impatient gesture and say with a decisiveness that seemed rude: “The picture has no money value. I’ll have to insist on your taking it on my terms--or I’ll give it to some one else. For I shall not carry it abroad with me.” “That brings me to the main reason for my coming,” said Richmond, leaning forward, elbows on the broad arms of the chair. Roger was all at sea again. With Richmond’s request for the picture he had jumped to the conclusion that it was really the sole cause of the two visits of that afternoon and the two exhibitions of sultry affability. Now--what new complication was Richmond about to disclose?--what new obstacle was about to appear in his path back to peace and whole-hearted work? The financier did not keep him long in suspense. “I want to persuade you not to go abroad,” he proceeded. “Now--please hear me out! You are an American. Your proper place is here--your own country. It needs you, and you owe it the services of your genius.” Roger eyed his guest with candid suspicion. Guile being foreign to his nature, he knew of its existence in his fellow-beings only as an incomprehensible but undeniable fact. He knew Richmond was a man of guile. Yet these sincere tones, these frank and friendly eyes-- Also, what possible motive could the man have? Perhaps the picture had really converted him into a friend and admirer, unafraid now that there was no longer reason to suspect matrimonial designs. “Don’t affect a modesty a man of your abilities could not possibly feel,” said Richmond, misunderstanding or pretending to misunderstand Roger’s embarrassed silence. “Only mediocrity is modest, and it is the crowd of fools that compels us, who can do things and have sense enough to know we can, to pretend to be modest.” Roger laughed. “There’s truth in that,” said he. “Still, I’m sure my fate is a matter of importance only to myself.” His expression settled to somberness again. “No, I shall go. Thank you, but I shall go.” “There is work for you here--big work,” urged Richmond. “I shall see that you get it--that you don’t have to wait for recognition and be wearied and disgusted by the stupid injustices that keep men of genius out of their own.” Roger’s simple and generous face softened, for his heart was touched. “I see you understand,” said he. “I wish I could show my appreciation by accepting your offer. But I can’t. I must go.”