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"
It
would
be
quite
as
fair
a
plan
of
action
as
is
adopted
by
many
modern
publishers
,
"
I
said
--
"
The
loud
hawking
of
literary
wares
now-a-days
reminds
me
of
the
rival
shouting
of
costermongers
in
a
low
neighbourhood
.
But
I
will
not
go
quite
so
far
--
I
'll
win
my
fame
legitimately
if
I
can
.
"
"
You
ca
n't
!
"
declared
Lucio
with
a
serene
smile
--
"
It
's
impossible
.
You
are
too
rich
.
That
of
itself
is
not
legitimate
in
Literature
,
which
great
art
generally
elects
to
wear
poverty
in
its
button-hole
as
a
flower
of
grace
.
The
fight
can
not
be
equal
in
such
circumstances
.
The
fact
that
you
are
a
millionaire
must
weigh
the
balance
apparently
in
your
favour
for
a
time
.
The
world
can
not
resist
money
.
If
I
,
for
example
,
became
an
author
,
I
should
probably
with
my
wealth
and
influence
,
burn
up
every
one
else
's
laurels
.
Suppose
that
a
desperately
poor
man
comes
out
with
a
book
at
the
same
time
as
you
do
,
he
will
have
scarcely
the
ghost
of
a
chance
against
you
.
He
will
not
be
able
to
advertize
in
your
lavish
style
--
nor
will
he
see
his
way
to
dine
the
critics
as
you
can
.
And
if
he
should
happen
to
have
more
genius
than
you
,
and
you
succeed
,
your
success
will
not
be
legitimate
.
But
after
all
,
that
does
not
matter
much
--
in
Art
,
if
in
nothing
else
,
things
always
right
themselves
.
"
I
made
no
immediate
reply
,
but
went
over
to
my
table
,
rolled
up
my
corrected
proofs
and
directed
them
to
the
printers
--
then
ringing
the
bell
I
gave
the
packet
to
my
man
,
Morris
,
bidding
him
post
it
at
once
.
This
done
,
I
turned
again
towards
Lucio
and
saw
that
he
still
sat
by
the
fire
,
but
that
his
attitude
was
now
one
of
brooding
melancholy
,
and
that
he
had
covered
his
eyes
with
one
hand
on
which
the
glow
from
the
flames
shone
red
.
I
regretted
the
momentary
irritation
I
had
felt
against
him
for
telling
me
unwelcome
truths
--
and
I
touched
him
lightly
on
the
shoulder
.
"
Are
you
in
the
dumps
now
Lucio
?
"
I
said
--
"
I
'm
afraid
my
depression
has
proved
infectious
.
"
He
moved
his
hand
and
looked
up
--
his
eyes
were
large
and
lustrous
as
the
eyes
of
a
beautiful
woman
.
"
I
was
thinking
,
"
he
said
,
with
a
slight
sigh
--
"
of
the
last
words
I
uttered
just
now
--
things
always
right
themselves
.
Curiously
enough
in
art
they
always
do
--
no
charlatanism
or
sham
lasts
with
the
gods
of
Parnassus
.
But
in
other
matters
it
is
different
.
For
instance
I
shall
never
right
myself
!
Life
is
hateful
to
me
at
times
,
as
it
is
to
everybody
.
"
"
Perhaps
you
are
in
love
?
"
I
said
with
a
smile
.
He
started
up
.
