ut aside your brushes for a week?"

"I've a good mind to chuck it into the lake. I simply can't paint any
more." He flung down the brushes. "I'm a fool, Celeste, a fool. I'm crying
for the moon, that's what the matter is. What's the use of beating about
the bush? You know as well as I do that it's Nora."

Her heart contracted, and for a little while she could not see him
clearly.

"But what earthly chance have I?" he went on, innocently but ruthlessly.
"No one can help loving Nora."

"No," in a small voice.

"It's all rot, this talk about affinities. There's always some poor devil
left outside. But who can help loving Nora?" he repeated.

"Who indeed!"

"And there's not the least chance in the world for me."

"You never can tell until you put it to the test."

"Do you think I have a chance? Is it possible that Nora may care a little
for me?" He turned his head toward her eagerly.

"Who knows?" She wanted him to have it over with, to learn the truth that
to Nora Harrigan he would never be more than an amiable comrade. He would
then have none to turn to but her. What mattered it if her own heart ached
so she might soothe the hurt in his? She laid a hand upon his shoulder, so
lightly that he was only dimly conscious of the contact.

"It's a rummy old world. Here I've gone alone all these years...."

"Twenty-six!" smiling.

"Well, that's a long time. Never bothered my head about a woman. Selfish,
perhaps. Had a good time, came and went as I pleased. And then I met
Nora."

"Yes."

"If only she'd been stand-offish, like these other singers, why, I'd have
been all right to-day. But she's such a brick! She's such a good fellow!
She treats us all alike; sings when we ask her to; always ready for a
romp. Think of her making us all take the _Kneip_-cure the other night!
And we marched around the fountain singing 'Mary had a little lamb.'
Barefooted in the grass! When a man marries he doesn't want a wife half so
much as a good comrade; somebody to slap him on the back in the morning to
hearten him up for the day's work; and to cuddle him up when he comes home
tired, or disappointed, or unsuccessful. No matter what mood he's in. Is
my English getting away from you?"

"No; I understand all you say." Her hand rested a trifle heavier upon his
shoulder, that was all.

"Nora would be that kind of a wife. 'Honor, anger, valor, fire,' as
Stevenson says. Hang the picture; what am I going to do with it?"

"'Honor, ange