"And about time you did," said Maurice. "I say, mind you send your poems to The Point of View, and I'll give you a smashing fine notice the week after publication."
Guy asked when Michael was coming back.
"He's made a glorious mess of things, hasn't he?" said Maurice.
"Oh, I don't know. Not necessarily."
"Well, I admit he found her out in time. But fancy wanting to marry a girl like that. I told him what she was, and he merely got furious with me. But he's an extraordinary chap altogether. By the way, when are you going to get married?"
"When I can afford it," said Guy.
"The question is whether an artist can ever afford to get married."
"What rot you talk."
"Wiser men than I have come to that conclusion," said Maurice. "Of course I haven't met your lady-love; but it does seem to me that your present mode of life is bound to be sterile of impressions."
"I don't go about self-consciously obtaining impressions," said Guy, a little angrily. "I would as soon search for local color. Personally I very much doubt if any impressions after eighteen or nineteen help the artist. As it seems to me, all experience after that age is merely valuable for maturing and putting into proportion the more vital experiences of childhood. And I'm not at all sure that there isn't in every artist a capacity for development which proceeds quite independently of externals. I speculate sometimes as to what would be the result upon a really creative temperament of being wrecked at twenty-two on a desert island. I say twenty-two because I do count as valuable the academic influence that only begins to be effective after eighteen."