“Approve, papa? You are the dearest of all papas. You have made me very happy.”
“My dear child,” said her father, affectionately, “I feel that I ought to do what I can to make you happy. You have been my joy and comfort, and latterly my support, in the days of my poverty. Henceforth, it shall be mine to gratify you in all your reasonable desires.”
“Papa, you embolden me to ask another favor.”
“Well, Helen?”
“I will tell you by and by. Now, Mr. Sharp, let us go and see Herbert.”
“Herbert is a fortunate young man,” thought the lawyer. “He seems in favor with both father and daughter. If Helen were a little older, who can tell what would come of it. It will be worth my while to be polite to the young man.”
CHAPTER XLII.
HOW YES BECAME NO.
Herbert Coleman had finished his scanty and unsatisfying breakfast, and was seated before his easel, on which was an unfinished picture. He gazed at it mournfully, for the conviction was deepening in his mind that he must bid farewell to art. Chosen mistress of his affections, she had treated him but coldly. She had admitted him to the threshold of her domain. He was permitted to view the glories in which he must not share. A career was opened before him, which it would have been his highest happiness to follow,—in which he could see others making their way successfully; but Necessity, with stern and forbidding countenance, waved him back as with a sword.
Yes, he must bid farewell to art. At the age of twenty-one, he felt that the happiness of his life was over. Henceforth, he must cherish in his heart aspirations which he would never be able to realize. He must descend from the clouds, and plod on in the prosaic way in which his uncle, with more common tastes, had found happiness and prosperity. But the transition from art to groceries was indeed great. Yet there seemed no alternation. If it were possible to find employment for a part of the day, sufficient to defray expenses reduced to the lowest amount compatible with health, that would be preferable. But this was uncertain, and, meanwhile, his purse was almost empty.
“I might as well accept my uncle’s offer, at once,” he said, to himself, despondently. “Nothing is likely to turn up in twenty-four hours to affect my decision. Come, I will write the letter now, and not mail it till to-morrow.”