eed at all ..."

"Just so," said his uncle, who was a disagreeable man; "but you can't,"
and Hilary tolerantly left it at that, merely adding, "There will be no
difficulty. We have arranged all that. Peggy is not a bigot. As to the
rest, I think we must judge for ourselves. I shall be earning more now,
I imagine."

Hilary always imagined that; imagination was his strong point. His
initial mistake was to imagine that he could paint. He did not think that
he had yet painted anything very good; but he knew that he was just about
to do so. He had really the artist's eye, and saw keenly the beauty that
was, though he did not know it, beyond his grasp. His uncle, who knew
nothing about art, could have told him that he would never be able to
paint, simply because he had never been, and would never be, able to
work. That gift he wholly lacked. Besides, like young Peter, he seemed
constitutionally incapable of success. A wide and quick receptiveness,
a considerable power of appreciation and assimilation, made such genius
as they had; the power of performance they desperately lacked; their
enterprises always let them through. Failure was the tragi-comic note
of their unprosperous careers.

However, Hilary succeeded in achieving marriage with the cheerful Peggy
Callaghan, and having done so they went abroad and lived an uneven and
rather exciting life of alternate squalor and luxury in one story of what
had once been a glorious roseate home of Venetian counts, and was now
crumbling to pieces and let in flats to the poor. Hilary and his wife
were most suitably domiciled therein, environed by a splendid dinginess
and squalor, pretentious, tawdry, grandiose, and superbly evading the
common. Peggy wrote to Peter in her large sprawling hand, "You dear
little brother, I wish you'd come and live with us. We have _such_
fun...." That was the best of Peggy. Always and everywhere she had such
fun. She added, "Give my sisterly regards to the splendid hero who shared
your mamma, and tell him we too live in a palace." That was so like
Peggy, that sudden and amused prodding into the most secret intimacies
of one's emotions. Peggy always discerned a great deal, and was blind
to a great deal more.

CHAPTER II

THE CHOICE OF A CAREER

Hilary, stretching his slender length wearily in Peter's fat arm-chair,
was saying in his high, sweet voice:

"It's the merest pittance, Peter, yours and mine. The Robinsons have it
practically all.