“Naturally. We belong.”
“We don’t; but you always understood me, and there is so much in my work that you could help me in. You know things and the ways of doing things. You must.”
“I do, I fancy, or else I don’t know myself. Then you won’t care to lose sight of me altogether, and—you want me to help you in your work?”
“Yes; but remember, Dick, nothing will ever come of it. That’s why I feel so selfish. Can’t things stay as they are? I do want your help.”
“You shall have it. But let’s consider. I must see your pics first, and overhaul your sketches, and find out about your tendencies. You should see what the papers say about my tendencies! Then I’ll give you good advice, and you shall paint according. Isn’t that it, Maisie?”
Again there was triumph in Dick’s eye.
“It’s too good of you,—much too good. Because you are consoling yourself with what will never happen, and I know that, and yet I want to keep you. Don’t blame me later, please.”
“I’m going into the matter with my eyes open. Moreover the Queen can do no wrong. It isn’t your selfishness that impresses me. It’s your audacity in proposing to make use of me.”
“Pooh! You’re only Dick,—and a print-shop.”
“Very good: that’s all I am. But, Maisie, you believe, don’t you, that I love you? I don’t want you to have any false notions about brothers and sisters.”