“I’d get some woman friend to show her all there was to see, and that might cure her. So-called sin charms because it’s unknown.”
“Don’t you think a girl’s love, if not unappreciated, is a shield and an inspiration?”
Briarley shook his head.
“Oh! of course, I forgot. You don’t believe in love.”
“I do, as much as I believe in any other hell.”
Andrews was silent.
“Have your fun out, then we’ll be serious.”
Their views were directly opposite, yet the enthusiasm of each made ground for respect, if not agreement.
“While you now admit such a phantasy, Andrews, you get the credit of living by the head. It is generally understood that you never let scruples of the heart stand in the way.”
“I am not a woman; besides, it is a matter of self-denial, and not unbelief. My love is my profession—long ago I made my choice between woman and art—if I had chosen woman that love would have ruled my life. I have given over much for my work; it has demanded sacrifice. I am just now beginning to prove myself equal to its despotic sovereignty. Briarley, unless you have tried for one thing all your life, you can’t conceive how bewildering and sweet a burst of it is for the first time. Under no conditions whatever would I sacrifice my best aims, my highest ambitions. It is better to be than to have. That’s my philosophy.”