“But we love each other!”
She waved her hands agitatedly. “The world would spurn me—”
“We will spurn the world.”
“Oh, but you are not thinking! Who would come to the house? How is it to be a centre of blessing?”
“We will win the world’s respect. What! You and I! Are we not strong enough? You, with your noble past—I, who come from nothing and have won you.”
“You talk like a dreamer, a poet, and I love you for it. But you do not know the world—how it ignores the realities of things.”
“Oh, I know the canting hypocrisy that puts its faith in shows, and honors loveless marriage. I will teach it to respect a home of love, and the work that is its fruit. You are right, happiness is the mother of Art. Oh, how I shall work now, my dear!”
“You may overtop Raphael; you will never be a Royal Academician.”
“What has my private life to do with Art?”
“Nothing with Art, but everything with English Art. You will lose your R.A.”