“I admit that the atmosphere over there is more congenial--much more congenial--to your sort of work. But you’ll find us less unsympathetic than you think. Give us a trial, Wade.” Roger was entirely convinced now, and was deeply moved. “I wish I could, Mr. Richmond. But if I am to work I must go.” The older man leaned still farther toward the young man in his earnestness. “Why, you painted here one of the greatest pictures I’ve seen. Of course, my personal feeling may bias my judgment somewhat--for I am attached to my daughter as I am to no other human being”--Richmond’s voice trembled, and there were tears in his eyes--“I’m a fool about her, Wade--a damn fool!... Excuse my getting off the track. As I was saying, I may think the picture greater than it really is. But I know that it is really great--_great_!” Roger tried to conceal his agitation. “You painted it here. That means, you can do great work here. Did you ever paint a better picture in Europe?” “No,” admitted Roger. “Then you ought to stay.” Roger rose, seated himself, lit a fresh cigarette. “Can’t do it,” he said curtly. “Let’s say no more about it. Don’t think me rude or unappreciative. But--you must take my decision as final.” “I’m older than you, Wade--twice as old. You are a young man, just starting. I’m about all in. So, I don’t feel that I’m impertinent in pressing you.” Again Roger rose. This time he went to the edge of the veranda. At the steps he turned suddenly. “Don’t think me unappreciative, sir,” said he, “but this is painful to me--very painful.” Richmond put on a most effective air of apology. “I’m sorry--I beg your pardon--I did not mean to intrude upon your private affairs. I was assuming you were free. It never occurred to me that there might be obligations over there----” “I _am_ free!” cried Roger. “At least, I was. And I intend to be so again. But--enough of this--of me. I’ll send you the picture-- No, I’ll see that it is sent on Saturday.” Richmond regarded the young man with the eyes of a father and a friend. He went up to him, laid one hand affectionately on his arm. “I know you don’t want to leave America--give up your ambition--the one that brought you here, so d’Artois says. Tell me. Can’t it be arranged somehow?” “Impossible,” said Roger. Richmond laughed gently. “A word for boys and for old failures.... Can’t you induce _her_ to live on this side of the water?” Roger looked puzzled. “It’s always a woman,” said Richmond, eyes twinkling. “If she really cares for you she’ll live wherever your career demands.” Roger’s smile of exaggerated disdain revealed how much of the boy he was taking with him into the thirties. “You are mistaken,” said he. “No woman has ever dominated my life.” His face grew stern again and energetic. “And no woman ever shall!” “That’s right--that’s right,” heartily approved Richmond. “Woman in the wrong place in a man’s life is almost as bad as if she were left out entirely. Almost--but not quite.”