are
not to enjoy life!"

"It isn't that at all."

"How terribly determined you are not to know life. And I always thought
artists, unless they wished to be provincial in their work, claimed the
whole world as their portion, all experience as their right. But I
suppose _English_ artists are different. I often wonder whether they are
wise in clinging like limpets to the Puritan tradition. On the
Continent, you know, in Paris, Berlin, Rome, Milan, and, above all, in
Moscow and Petersburg, they are regarded with pity and amazement. Do
forgive me! But artists abroad, and I speak universally, though I know
it's generally dangerous to do that, think art is strangled by the
Puritan tradition clinging round poor old England's throat."

She laughed and moved her shoulders.

"They say how can men be great artists unless they steep themselves in
the stream of life."

"There are sacred rivers like the Ganges, and there are others that are
foul and weedy and iridescent with poison," said Heath hotly.

She saw anger in his eyes.

"Perhaps you are getting something--some sacred cantata--ready for one
of the provincial festivals?" she said. "If that is so, of course, you
mustn't break the continuity with a trip to the Greek Islands or Tunis.
Besides, you'd get all the wrong sort of inspiration in such places. I
shall never forget the beautiful impression I received at--was it
Worcester?--once when I saw an English audience staggering slowly to its
feet in tribute to the Hallelujah Chorus. I am sure you are writing
something that will bring Worcester to its feet, aren't you?"

He forced a very mirthless laugh.

"I'm really not writing anything of that kind. But please don't let us
talk about my work. I am sure it's very uninteresting except to me. I
feel very grateful to you for your kind and delightful offer, but I
can't accept it, unfortunately for me."

"_Mal-au-coeur?_"

"Yes, yes. I don't think I'm a good sailor."

"_Mal-au-coeur!_" she repeated, smiling satirically at him.

"I'm in the midst of something."

"The Puritan tradition?"

"Perhaps it is that. Whatever it is, I suppose it suits me; it's in my
line, so I had better stick to it."

"You are bathing in the Ganges?"

Her eyes were fixed upon him.

"Poor Charmian Mansfield! Whom can I get for her?"

Claude looked down.

"I must leave that to you. I am sure you will have a very delightful
party."

Mrs. Shiffney got up. She was looking the soul of car