Page:The Tragic Muse (London & New York, Macmillan & Co., 1890), Volume 2.djvu/182

174 "Ah, how you hate them!" Julia moaned. "I saw that when I saw you this morning. The whole place reeked of it."

"My dear child, the greatest statesmen have had their distractions. What do you make of my hereditary talent? That's a tremendous force."

"It wouldn't carry you far." Then Mrs. Dallow added: "You must be a great artist." Nick gave a laugh at the involuntary contempt of this, but she went on: "It's beautiful of you to want to give up anything, and I like you for it. I shall always like you. We shall be friends, and I shall always take an interest—"

He stopped her at this, made a movement which interrupted her phrase, and she suffered him to hold her hand as if she were not afraid of him now. "It isn't only for you," he argued gently; "you're a great deal, but you're not everything. Innumerable vows and pledges repose upon my head. I'm inextricably committed and dedicated. I was brought up in the temple; my father was a high priest and I'm a child of the Lord. And then the life itself—when you speak of it I feel stirred to my depths: it's like a herald's trumpet. Fight with me, Julia—not against me! Be on my side, and we shall do everything. It is fascinating, to be a great man before the people—to be loved by them, to be followed by them. An artist isn't—never, never. Why should he be? Don't forget how clever I am."

"Oh, if it wasn't for that!" she rejoined, flushed with the effort to resist his tone. She asked abruptly: "Do you pretend that if I were to die to-morrow you would stay in the House?"