"I can't put it as plainly as I want to do; but, Raymond, I mean that your painting will not be only for your own glory, if you use it rightly."
Raymond was silent, and his face became very thoughtful. "Madge," he said presently, "I don't want that arrowroot. Come over here."
"Wait one moment, dear. I know my duty as nurse better than that. If I leave this too long it will get quite thin, and then you will call it 'horrid stuff,' and not taste it."
Raymond laughed. "You are getting quite tyrannical, Madge. You take an unfair advantage of my weakness."
"I must make the most of my brief authority," she answered merrily; and in another minute she had brought the little tray to his side. "Now what is it, Raymond?"
"Well, Madge, I've been thinking a great deal, and I've come to the conclusion that it's right for me to go to the shop. I can't rise to fame in painting without some teaching, and I can't get that, and I must earn money for you."
"But, Raymond, that picture is sold. You know Mr. Smith brought the money the other day. Why should not others be sold also?"
"And what are you to do meantime, little woman?"
Madge was amused at the grave elder-brother tone, and answered, "As I have done before. But let us consult Mr. Smith."
"Very well; but he can't know both sides of the question. Nobody but an artist could understand what it is to me to give up painting—not even you, Madge."