 my kind of art as the noble pursuit of
Truth, and so on. I don't care for such phrases; they may mean something, but as
a rule come of the very spirit so opposed to my own - that which feels it
necessary to justify art by bombast. The one object I have in life is to paint a
bit of the world just as I see it. I exhaust myself in vain toil; I shall never
succeed; but I am right to persevere, I am right to go on pleasing myself.«
    Miriam listened in astonishment.
    »With such views, Mr. Mallard, it is fortunate that you happen to find
pleasure in painting pictures.«
    »Which, at all events, do people no harm.«
    She turned upon him suddenly.
    »Do you encourage my brother in believing that his duty in life is to please
himself?«
    »It has been my effort,« he replied gravely.
    »I don't understand you,« Miriam said, in indignation.
    »No, you do not. I mean to say that I believe your brother is not really
pleased with the kind of life he has too long been leading; that to please
himself he must begin serious work of some kind.«
    »That is playing with words, and on a subject ill-chosen for it.«
    »Mrs. Baske, do you seriously believe that Reuben Elgar can be made a man of
steady purpose by considerations that have primary reference to any one or
anything but himself?«
    She made no answer.
    »I am not depreciating him. The same will apply (if you are content to face
the truth) to many a man whom you would esteem. I am sorry that I have lost your
confidence, but that is better than to keep it by repeating idle formulas that
the world's experience has outgrown.«
    Miriam pondered, then said quietly:
    »We have different thoughts, Mr. Mallard, and speak different languages.«
    »But we know a little more of each other than we did. For my part, I feel it
a gain.«
    During the rest of the drive they scarcely spoke at all; the few sentences
exchanged were mere remarks upon the scenery. Both carriages drew up at the gate
of the villa, where Miriam and Mallard alighted. Spence, rising, called to the
latter.
    »Will you accompany Miss Doran the rest of the way?«
    »Certainly.«
    Mallard took his seat in the other carriage; and, as it drove off, he looked
back. Miriam was
