“It is such a difficult question.”
“Granted! but you will have to decide one way or the other shortly. One thing is certain, that it would be beneficial to your art.”
“That is true enough.”
“After all,” said Crispin seductively, “what better life can you desire? A ready-made kingdom, small and compact—a delightful climate—obedient subjects—a lotus-eating existence—and Helena!”
“It is delightful—but duty?”
“Oh!” cried Crispin, shrugging his shoulders, “of course, if you are going to invoke that bogie, I have nothing further to say. Ask the Rector.”
“What do you think he will say?”
Crispin burst out laughing, and, sauntering to the window, threw his burnt-out cigarette into the green grass beyond.
“Did ever any one hear such a man? My dear fellow, I cannot tell you what the Rector will say. He is an ardent Hellenist, with his Aristophanic studies, and may say, ‘Stay, by all means!’ On the other hand, he is an English Church clergyman, with strong opinions as to the absenteeism of landlords, and the duties they owe their tenants, in which case he will certainly make you come back. But in either event you will have your dear Helena.”
“I’m not so sure of that, Crispin. If I refuse Justinian’s request, he may refuse me Helena.”