myself." "That," said Wilmot with the faith of a fanatic in his god, "is because you've never really cared." "And besides," she said, "I have what I am pleased to call my career. And 'Down to Gehenna and up to the throne he travels fastest who travels alone.'" "True," said Wilmot, "he arrives soonest, but all tired out, and the house is empty, and there are no children in it, and only paid servants. And it may be very showy to live for fame, but it isn't good enough. When we turned that bust you began into mud pies, we did a wise thing. We amused ourselves, and we said the last word on art as opposed to life. The best thing in this world is to be children and to have children--and the next best thing is nowhere." "Would you," said Barbara, and her eyes twinkled a little, "really rather be a parent than a Praxiteles?" "It looks to me," said Wilmot sadly, "sometimes--in moments of despondency--as if the honorable gentleman was never going to be either. But then again," and he spoke in a strong voice, "I believe in my heart that after you've done handling the book of life and admiring the binding, you'll open it at chapter one, and read, 'Young Wilmot Allen--'" "Lunch-time," said Barbara, and she rose from the comfortable chair with sharp decision. "I vote for a thick steak, being famished. Is my hair all mussy?" "No," said Wilmot dejectedly. "I wish it was. And I wish it was my fault--and yours." IV "I've done enough for you more than once," said the legless man; "you're big enough and strong enough to work, but you're a born loafer."
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