"Clever Nick! And what do you advise him?"
"Oh to do something."
"That's valuable," Peter laughed. "Not to give up his sweetheart for the sake of a paint-pot, I hope?"
"Never, never, Peter! It's not a question of his giving up," Biddy pursued, "for Julia has herself shaken free. I think she never really felt safe—she loved him, but was afraid of him. Now she's only afraid—she has lost the confidence she tried to have. Nick has tried to hold her, but she has wrested herself away. Do you know what she said to me? She said, 'My confidence has gone for ever.'"
"I didn't know she was such a prig!" Julia's brother commented. "They're queer people, verily, with water in their veins instead of blood. You and I wouldn't be like that, should we?—though you have taken up such a discouraging position about caring for a fellow."
"I care for art," poor Biddy returned.
"You do, to some purpose"—and Peter glanced at the bust.
"To that of making you laugh at me."
But this he didn't heed. "Would you give a good man up for 'art'?"
"A good man? What man?"