"But he would be so hurt if you failed," she urged.
"Pauline, if you can say that, you can imagine that I will fail. Even you are beginning to have doubts."
"I haven't any doubts," she whispered. "I know you will be famous. And yet I have doubts of another sort. I sometimes wonder if I shall be enough when you are famous?"
The question she had raised launched Guy upon a sea of eloquence. He worried no more about his father, but only protested his dependence upon Pauline's love for everything that he would ever have accomplished.
"Yes, but I think I shall seem dull one day," she persisted, with a shake of the head.
"No, no. How could you seem dull to me?"
"But I'm not clever...."
"Avoid that wretched word," he cried. "It can only be applied to thieves, politicians, and lawyers. I have told you a thousand times what you are to me, and I will not tell you again because I don't want to be an egotist. I don't want to represent you to myself as a creature that exists for me. You are a being to whom I aspire. If we live for ever I shall have still to aspire to you and never be nearer than the hope of deserving you."
"But your poetry, Guy, are you sure I appreciate it? Are you sure I'm not just a silly little thing lost in admiration of whatever you do?"
Guy brushed her doubts aside.