you again,—it's absurd, but I want to keep you in my life.'
'Naturally. We belong.'
'We don't; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things. You must.'
'I do, I fancy, or else I don't know myself. Then I suppose you won't care to lose sight of me altogether, and you want me to help you in your work?'
'Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That's why I feel so selfish. Let things stay as they are. I do want your help.'
'You shall have it. But let's consider. I must see your pics first, and overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I'll give you good advice, and you shall paint according. Isn't that it, Maisie?'
Again there was unholy triumph in Dick's eye.
'It's too good of you,—much too good. Because you are consoling yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I wish to keep you. Don't blame me later, please.'
'I'm going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover, the queen can do no wrong. It isn't
