the world's public admiration and private abomination. Oh, the good
world dearly loves to rub elbows with a talented sinner and patronise
him and sentimentalise over him--one whose miracles don't hurt their
eyes enough to blind them to the pleasant discovery that his halo is
tarnished in spots and needs polishing, and that there's a patch on the
seat of his carefully creased toga."

Neville laughed. Presently he said: "Until recently I've cherished
theories. One of 'em was to subordinate everything in life to the
enjoyment of a single pleasure--the pleasure of work.... I guess
experience is putting that theory on the blink."

"Surely. You might as well make an entire meal of one favourite dish.
For a day you could stand it, even like it, perhaps. After that--" he
shrugged.

"But--I'd _rather_ spend my time painting--if I could stand the diet."

"Would you? I don't know what I'd rather do. I like almost everything.
It makes me paint better to talk to a pretty woman, for example. To kiss
her inspires a masterpiece."

"Does it?" said Neville, thoughtfully.

"Of course. A week or two of motoring--riding, dancing, white flannel
idleness--all these I adore. And," tapping his carefully pinned lilac
tie--"inside of me I know that every pleasant experience, every pleasure
I offer myself, is going to make me a better painter!"

"Experience," repeated the other.

"By all means and every means--experience in pleasure, in idleness, in
love, in sorrow--but experience!--always experience, by hook or by
crook, and at any cost. That is the main idea, Neville--_my_ main
idea--like the luscious agglomeration of juicy green things which that
cow is eating; they all go to make good milk. Bah!--that's a stupid
simile," he added, reddening.

Neville laughed. Presently he pointed across the meadows.

"Is _that_ your sister's place?" asked Querida with enthusiasm,
interested and disappointed. "What a charming house!"

"That is Ashuelyn, my sister's house. Beyond is El Nauar, Cardemon's
place.... Here we are."

The small touring car stopped; the young men descended to a grassy
terrace where a few people in white flannels had gathered after
breakfast. A slender woman, small of bone and built like an undeveloped
girl, came forward, the sun shining on her thick chestnut hair.

"Hello, Lily," said Neville.

"Hello, Louis. Thank you for coming, Mr. Querida--it is exceedingly nice
of you to come--" She gave him her firm, cool hand, s