She smiled in spite of herself. "That," she said, "is certainly as little as one could allow. Well, then, I confess that I do not understand why you should refuse to accept the fortune which Mr. Singleton evidently wishes so much to give you. Have you conscientious scruples against holding wealth?"
"Not the faintest. I would accept a million, if it came to me unfettered by conditions which would make even a million too dearly bought."
"Such as—?"
"What my uncle asks—that I give up everything which interests me in life, and devote myself to him as long as he lives."
"But he cannot live long. And then—"
"Then I should be a rich man. But, as it chances, I do not care about being a rich man. Money can not buy anything which I desire. It cannot give me the proficiency in art which must be won by long and hard study."
"It would make that study unnecessary."
"Unnecessary!" He glanced at her with something of her own wonder, dashed by faint scorn. "Do you think that I consider making money the end of my art? So far from that, I would starve in a garret sooner than lower my standard for such an object. And, insensibly perhaps, I should lower it if I had a great deal of money. No man can answer for himself. Therefore, I have no desire to be tempted. And I repeat that money can buy nothing which I value most."
"Do you not value power? It can buy that."
"In a very poor form. I am not sure that I should care for it in its best form, but certainly not in that which money buys."