 courageous resolve I will ask leave
to shake hands with you on the strength of our freemasonry, where we are all
vowed to the service of Art, and to serve her by helping every fellow-servant.«
    Gwendolen was silent, again looking at her hands. She felt herself very far
away from taking the resolve that would enforce acceptance; and after waiting an
instant or two, Klesmer went on with deepened seriousness.
    »Where there is the duty of service there must be the duty of accepting it.
The question is not one of personal obligation. And in relation to practical
matters immediately affecting your future - excuse my permitting myself to
mention in confidence an affair of my own. I am expecting an event which would
make it easy for me to exert myself on your behalf in furthering your
opportunities of instruction and residence in London - under the care, that is,
of your family - without need for anxiety on your part. If you resolve to take
art as a bread-study, you need only undertake the study at first; the bread will
be found without trouble. The event I mean is my marriage, - in fact - you will
receive this as a matter of confidence, - my marriage with Miss Arrowpoint,
which will more than double such right as I have to be trusted by you as a
friend. Your friendship will have greatly risen in value for her by your having
adopted that generous labour.«
    Gwendolen's face had begun to burn. That Klesmer was about to marry Miss
Arrowpoint caused her no surprise, and at another moment she would have amused
herself in quickly imagining the scenes that must have occurred at Quetcham. But
what engrossed her feeling, what filled her imagination now, was the panorama of
her own immediate future that Klesmer's words seemed to have unfolded. The
suggestion of Miss Arrowpoint as a patroness was only another detail added to
its repulsiveness: Klesmer's proposal to help her seemed an additional
irritation after the humiliating judgment he had passed on her capabilities. His
words had really bitten into her self-confidence and turned it into the pain of
a bleeding wound; and the idea of presenting herself before other judges was now
poisoned with the dread that they also might be harsh: they also would not
recognise the talent she was conscious of. But she controlled herself, and rose
from her seat before she made any answer. It seemed natural that she should
pause. She went to the piano and looked absently at leaves of music, pinching up
the corners. At last she turned towards Klesmer and said, with almost her usual
air of
