taper fort, stand on their heads, turn summersaults or commit deeds of violence, to make people notice them. After that, no doubt, a good many will be quieter. But I don't know; to-day I'm in an appreciative mood—I feel indulgent even to them: they give me an impression of intelligence, of eager observation. All art is one—remember that, Biddy, dear," the young man continued, looking down at his sister with a smile. "It's the same great, many-headed effort, and any ground that's gained by an individual, any spark that's struck in any province, is of use and of suggestion to all the others. We are all in the same boat."
"'We,' do you say, my dear? Are you really setting up for an artist?" Lady Agnes asked.
Nick hesitated a moment. "I was speaking for Biddy!"
"But you are one, Nick—you are!" the girl cried.
Lady Agnes looked for an instant as if she were going to say once more "Don't be vulgar!" But she suppressed these words, if she had intended them, and uttered others, few in number and not completely articulate, to the effect that she hated talking about art. While her son spoke she had watched him as if she failed to follow him; yet something in the tone of her exclamation seemed to denote that she had understood him only too well.
"We are all in the same boat," Biddy repeated, smiling at her.
"Not me, if you please!" Lady Agnes replied. "It's horrid, messy work, your modelling."
"Ah, but look at the results!" said the girl, eagerly, glancing about at the monuments in the garden as if in
