“Not I. I should not care to be a penny richer than I am. Of course I should like to sell my pictures. One must make a living. But beyond that I ask nothing. I dare say that I, a poor artist, or you, a man who work for your bread, have more happiness out of life than the owner of that great palace.”
“Indeed, I think that it is more than likely,” the other answered, in a much more conciliatory voice.
“Art,” said Robert, warming to the subject, “is her own reward. What mere bodily indulgence is there which money could buy which can give that deep thrill of satisfaction which comes on the man who has conceived something new, something beautiful, and the daily delight as he sees it grow under his hand, until it stands before him a completed whole? With my art and without wealth I am happy. Without my art I should have a void which no money could fill. But I really don't know why I should say all this to you.”
The workman had stopped, and was staring at him earnestly with a look of the deepest interest upon his smoke-darkened features.
“I am very glad to hear what you say,” said he. “It is a pleasure to know that the worship of gold is not quite universal, and that there are at least some who can rise above it. Would you mind my shaking you by the hand?”
It was a somewhat extraordinary request, but Robert rather prided himself upon his Bohemianism, and upon his happy facility for making friends with all sorts and conditions of men. He readily exchanged a cordial grip with his chance acquaintance.
“You expressed some curiosity as to this house. I know the grounds pretty well, and might perhaps show you one or two little things which would interest you. Here are the gates. Will you come in with me?”
Here was, indeed, a chance. Robert eagerly assented, and walked up the winding drive amid the growing fir-trees. When he found his uncouth guide, however, marching straight across the broad, gravel square to the main entrance, he felt that he had placed himself in a false position.
“Surely not through the front door,” he whispered, plucking his companion by the sleeve. “Perhaps Mr. Raffles Haw might not like it.”
“I don't think there will be any difficulty,” said the other, with a quiet smile. “My name is Raffles Haw.”