His companion—they were in a country garden, and it was the spring of the year—was a girl of fifteen, who hung upon his words and adored him. Some women begin the voluntary servitude to the man they love at a very early age indeed. Nelly at fifteen loved this boy of seventeen as much as if they had both been ten years older.
"Yes," she said, timidly, and the manner of her saying it betrayed certain things. "And you will work, Will, won't you?"
"Work? Nell, since your father has spoken those words of encouragement, I feel that there is nothing but work left in me—regular work—methodical, systematic work, you know. Grind, grind, grind! No more music, no more singing, no more making rhymes—grind, grind, grind! I say, Nell, I've always dreamed, you know——"
"You have, Will."
"And to find that things may actually come true—actually—the finest things that ever I dared to dream—oh!"
"It is wonderful, Will!" Both of them began to think that the finest things had already been achieved.
"It is like having your fortune doubled—trebled—multiplied by ten. Better. If my fortune were multiplied by fifty I could spend no more, I could eat no more, I believe I could do no more with it."
"Genius," said the girl, blushing, because it really did seem an original thing to say, "is better than riches."
"It is, it is," the possessor of genius replied, with conviction. "To have enough is to have all. I can, if I please, become a bishop, a judge, a statesman—anything, anything. Nell," his voice dropped, "the thought makes me tremble. I feel as if I shall not be equal to the position. There is personal dignity, you know."
The girl laughed. "You not equal, Will? Why, you are strong enough for anything."