"How do you know there are such persons?" she queried.
"I must decline to answer that question," I replied; "but if there are none it is because my work is not yet sufficiently rare and precious. I propose to work no more—say, for six or seven years. By that time my reputation will be made, and there will be the fiercest competition for the smallest canvas I condescend to sign."
She kissed me.
"I came out for the housekeeping-money," she remarked simply.
I went into the house to fetch the required sum, and, by some means I cannot explain, got to work again upon the latest potboiler.
Music Readily Acquired.—Stealing a march.
