t effort to find exactly
the right phrase and shade of meaning which is the stumbling-block of so
many conscientious writers, troubled him not at all. Given the
sensation, words in which to clothe it came instinctively, faster often
than he could write them down. But first he must needs experience the
sensation. This type of brain suffers from one disadvantage. In time the
receptive surface of it becomes dulled, calloused, and as the confirmed
drug-user requires constantly increasing or varying doses to produce
effect, so such an imagination requires constantly increasing or varying
doses of emotion.

These young Jacqueline Kildare was supplying in full measure. To his
sophisticated palate she was as refreshing as cool spring water. She
roused, among impulses more familiar to his experience, certain others
with which he had not credited himself, impulses of tenderness, of
protection, of chivalry. He began to be aware of a pleasure that was
entirely new to him in the sight of Jacqueline with Mag's baby, their
very frequent companion.

"I _am_ getting primitive!" he thought. "This is going back to nature
with a vengeance."

For the first time in his life, the thought of marriage came to him
occasionally and was put away with some regret. "I must not lose my
head," he admonished himself. "It will not last, of course. It never
does."

Channing knew himself very thoroughly.

But if he must not offer marriage to the girl, he could at least help
her to a career. It flattered his _amour propre_ to realize that the
object of his present affections, crude young thing as she was, might be
called in a certain sense his equal, a fellow artist, one of the world's
chosen. He spoke very often of her career, and Jacqueline listened,
dreamily.

Of late she had somewhat lost interest in careers. Or rather, she had
another sort of career in view; that of the lady in the tower, to whom
her knight brings all his trophies. It seemed to her that this might be
the happiest career of all.

She knew very well what she was doing for Channing. In the morning
hours, and often after he left her far into the night, the author wrote
steadily, with the ease and smoothness of creation that is one of the
most satisfying pleasures known to human experience. Daily, when he came
to her for refreshment, he brought manuscript to read, incidents,
character sketches, whole chapters in the novel he had started. All of
which filled Jacqueline with a new