"Iris, I must tell you something more about myself. Will you listen for a moment? Well, I am the son of a clergyman who now holds a colonial appointment. I have got the usual number of brothers and sisters, who are doing the usual things. I will not bore you with details about them."
"No," said Iris, "please do not."
"I am the adopted son, or ward, or whatever you please, of a certain cousin. She is a single lady with a great income, which she promises to bequeath to me in the future. In the meantime, I am to have whatever I want. Do you understand the position, Iris?"
"Yes, I think so. It is interesting, because it shows why you will never be a great artist. But it is very sad."
"A man may rise above his conditions, Iris," said Arnold meekly.
"No," she went on; "it is only the poor men who do anything good. Lala Roy says so."
"I will pretend to be poor—indeed, I am poor. I have nothing. If it were not for my cousin, I could not even profess to follow Art."
"What a pity," she said, "that you are rich! Lala Roy was rich once."
Arnold repressed an inclination to desire that Lala Roy might be kept out of the conversation.
"But he gave up all his wealth and has been happy, and a philosopher, ever since."