"A kilt wouldn't be a bad idea," said Mr. James.
Hilary Vance paused and appeared to be thinking deeply; then he said:
"The Scotch peasant lassies, James—are they as attractive nowadays as they appear to have been in the days of Burns?"
"I thought you'd done with women!" cried Mr. James.
"I have done with women," said the poet with cold sternness. "I have done with the cold-hearted, treacherous, meretricious women of the town. But the simple, trusting and trustworthy country girl, the daughter of the soil, in perpetual touch with nature—surely communion with her would be healing too."
"Oh, hang it all!" said Mr. James quite despondently.
Hilary Vance plunged once more into deep thought; then he said:
"Where does one buy a kilt—and a sporran?"
"Whiteley's, I suppose," said Mr. James. Then he added hastily: "But I say, oughtn't we to do something to amuse these children?"
At once his friend forgot his seared heart; for the while the process of healing it did not exercise his wits. He flung himself heart and soul into the business of amusing Pollyooly and the Lump; and presently the studio rang with their screams of joy. There may have been some truth in the assertion of his detractors that Hilary Vance's drawing was facile and too far on the side of mere prettiness; but no one in the world could deny that he made a splendid elephant: his trumpeting was especially true to life.