"I suppose," said Arnold, shirking the question, because this is a
civilized country, and in fact, why not? "I suppose that it is your
work which keeps you from feeling life dull and monotonous."

"No life," she said, looking as wise as Newton, if Newton was ever
young and handsome--"no life can be dull when one is thinking about
mathematics all day. Do you study mathematics?"

"No; I was at Oxford, you know."

"Then perhaps you prefer metaphysics? Though Lala Roy says that the
true metaphysics, which he has tried to teach me, can only be reached
by the Hindoo intellect."

"No, indeed; I have never read any metaphysics whatever. I have only
got the English intellect." This he said with intent satirical, but
Iris failed to understand it so, and thought it was meant for a
commendable humility.

"Physical science, perhaps?"

"No, Iris. Philosophy, mathematics, physics, metaphysics, or science
of any kind have I never learned, except only the science of Heraldry,
which you have taught me, with a few other things."

"Oh!" She wondered how a man could exist at all without learning these
things. "Not any science at all? How can any one live without some
science?"

"I knew very well," he said, "that as soon as I was found out I should
be despised."

"Oh, no, not despised. But it seems such a pity--"

"There is another kind of life, Iris, which you do not know. You must
let me teach you. It is the life of Art. If you would only condescend
to show the least curiosity about me, Iris, I would try to show you
something of the Art life."

"How can I show curiosity about you, Arnold? I feel none."

"No; that is just the thing which shames me. I have felt the most
lively curiosity about you, and I have asked you thousands of
impertinent questions."

"Not impertinent, Arnold. If you want to ask any more, pray do. I dare
say you cannot understand my simple life."

"And you ask me nothing at all about myself. It isn't fair, Iris."

"Why should I? I know you already."

"You know nothing at all about me."

"Oh, yes, I know you very well indeed. I knew you before you came
here. You showed me yourself in your letters. You are exactly like the
portrait I drew of you. I never thought, for instance, that you were
an old gentleman, as you thought me." He laughed. It was a new thing
to see Iris using, even gently, the dainty weapons of satire.

"But you do not know what I am, or what is my profession, or anything
at all