"Mary is the only friend I have," said Minola. "It is not wonderful if I wish to keep her with me. And you will make a great success some time."
"If one hadn't to grind at things for bare living, one might do something. I am not bad enough, or good enough; and that's the truth of it. I dare say if I were mean enough to hunt after some woman with money, I might have succeeded as well as others--but I couldn't do that."
"I am not mean enough for that. But I am not high-minded enough to accept any path, and be content with it and proud of it. Now I shan't bore you any more about myself. I wanted you to know this that you might not think too harshly of me. I know you felt some objection to me at first; you need not try politely to deny it."
"Oh, no; I don't want to deny it. I prefer truth to politeness, a great deal. I did think you had neglected your sister; but really I was not surprised. I believe other men do the same thing."
"But now you see that I have some excuse?"
"Glad to hear that I am so wretchedly poor, Miss Grey?" he said with a smile, and bending his eyes on her. "Glad to hear that your friend's brother is such a failure?"
"I would rather a thousand times hear that you were poor than that you were heartless. I don't call it a failure to be poor. I should call it a failure to be selfish and mean."
She spoke in a low tone, but very earnestly and eagerly, and she suddenly thought she was speaking too eagerly, and stopped.
"Well," he said, after a moment's pause, "here is the picture. We shall get to it presently, when these people move away."
They had entered, through a curtained door, a small room which was nearly filled with people standing before a picture, and admiringly criticising it. Minola, with all her real or fancied delight in noting the jealousies and weaknesses of men and women, could hear no words of detraction or even dispraise.
"Is the painter here?" she asked of her companion in a whisper.
"No; I haven't seen him. Perhaps he'll come in later on."
"Would you think it cheap cynicism if I were to ask why they all praise the picture--why they don't find any fault with it?"
"Oh, because they are all of the school, and they must support their creed. Our art is a creed to us. I don't admit that I am of Delavar's school any more; in fact, I look upon him as a heretic. He is going in for mere popularity; success has spoilt him. But to most of these people here he is still a divinity. They haven't found him out yet."