hurried. I cannot vulgarize my
art. I could not consent to that."

"Of course not, Wilbur. Not worldly-wise enough is just the phrase, I
think. You are so absorbed in the theory of fine things that I am sure
you often let the practical opportunities to get the fine things to do
slip."

"Perhaps, dear. I will try to guard against it." Wilbur took her hands
in his and looked down tenderly into her face. His own was a little
weary. "Above everything else in life I wish, to make you happy," he
said.

"I am happy, you dear boy."

"Truly?"

"Yes, truly. And if something happens which I am nearly sure will
happen, I shall be happier still. It's a secret, and I mustn't tell you,
but if it does happen, you can't help agreeing that your wife has been
clever and has helped you in your profession."

"Helped me? Ah, Selma," he said, folding her in his arms, "I don't think
you realize how much you are to me. In this modern world, what with
self-consciousness, and shyness and contemporary distaste for fulsome
expression, it is difficult to tell adequately those we love how we feel
toward them. You are my darling and my inspiration. The sun rises and
sets with you, and unless you were happy, I could never be. Each man in
this puzzling world must live according to his own lights, and I,
according to mine, am trying to make the most of myself, consistent with
self-respect and avoidance of the low human aims and time-serving
methods upon which our new civilization is supposed to frown. If I am
neglecting my lawful opportunities, if I am failing to see wisely and
correctly, I shall be grateful for counsel. Ah, Selma, for your sake,
even more than for my own, I grieve that we have no children. A baby's
hands would, I fancy, be the best of counsellors and enlighteners."

"If children had come at first, it would have been very nice. But
now--now I think they might stand in the way of my being of help to you.
And I am so anxious to help you, Wilbur."

As a result of this conversation Littleton devoted himself more
assiduously than ever to his work. He was eager to increase his earnings
so that his income should not be curtailed by his decision to avoid
further ventures in the stock-market. He was troubled in soul, for
Selma's accusation that he was visionary haunted him. Could it be that
he was too scrupulous, too uncompromising, and lacked proper enterprise?
Self-scrutiny failed to convince him that this was so, yet left a
lurking