"But what's art but an intense life--if it be real?" she asked. "I think
it's the only one--everything else is so clumsy!" Her companion laughed,
and she brought out with her charming serenity what next struck her.
"It's so interesting to meet so many celebrated people."

"So I should think--but surely it isn't new to you."

"Why I've never seen any one--any one: living always in Asia."

The way she talked of Asia somehow enchanted him. "But doesn't that
continent swarm with great figures? Haven't you administered provinces
in India and had captive rajahs and tributary princes chained to your
car?"

It was as if she didn't care even _should_ he amuse himself at her cost.
"I was with my father, after I left school to go out there. It was
delightful being with him--we're alone together in the world, he and
I--but there was none of the society I like best. One never heard of a
picture--never of a book, except bad ones."

"Never of a picture? Why, wasn't all life a picture?"

She looked over the delightful place where they sat. "Nothing to compare
to this. I adore England!" she cried.

It fairly stirred in him the sacred chord. "Ah of course I don't deny
that we must do something with her, poor old dear, yet."

"She hasn't been touched, really," said the girl.

"Did Mr. St. George say that?"

There was a small and, as he felt, harmless spark of irony in his
question; which, however, she answered very simply, not noticing the
insinuation. "Yes, he says England hasn't been touched--not considering
all there is," she went on eagerly. "He's so interesting about our
country. To listen to him makes one want so to do something."

"It would make _me_ want to," said Paul Overt, feeling strongly, on the
instant, the suggestion of what she said and that of the emotion with
which she said it, and well aware of what an incentive, on St. George's
lips, such a speech might be.

"Oh you--as if you hadn't! I should like so to hear you talk together,"
she added ardently.

"That's very genial of you; but he'd have it all his own way. I'm
prostrate before him."

She had an air of earnestness. "Do you think then he's so perfect?"

"Far from it. Some of his later books seem to me of a queerness--!"

"Yes, yes--he knows that."

Paul Overt stared. "That they seem to me of a queerness--!"

"Well yes, or at any rate that they're not what they should be. He told
me he didn't esteem them. He has told me such w