There  is,  perhaps,  an  aloofness — even  a  self-denial — "
He  laughed  again :  "  I  deny  myself  nothing — on  canvas
— even  I  have  the  audacity  to  try  to  draw  as  you  do !  "

Neville  sat  thinking,  watching  the  landscape  speed
away  on  either  side  in  a  running  riot  of  green.
"  Self-denial — too  much  of  it — separates  you  from
your  kind,"  said  Querida.  "  The  solitary  fasters  are
never  personally  pleasant ;  hermits  are  the  world's  pub-
lic admiration  and  private  abomination.  Oh,  the  good
world  dearly  loves  to  rub  elbows  with  a  talented  sinner
and  patronise  him  and  sentimentahse  over  him — one
whose  miracles  don't  hurt  their  eyes  enough  to  blind
them  to  the  pleasant  discovery  that  his  halo  is  tarnished
in  spots  and  needs  pohshing,  and  that  there's  a  patch
on  the  seat  of  his  carefully  creased  toga."

Neville  laughed.  Presently  he  said :  "  Until  recently
I've  cherished  theories.  One  of  'em  was  to  subordinate
everything  in  life  to  the  en j  oyment  of  a  single  pleasure
— the  pleasure  of  work.  ...  I  guess  experience  is  put-
ting that  theory  on  the  blink."

"  Surely.  You  might  as  well  make  an  entire  mea)
103


THE    COMMON    LAW


of  one  favourite  dish.  For  a  day  you  could  stand  it,
even    like    it,    perhaps.      After    that — "    he    shrugged.
"  But — I'd  rather  spend  my  time  painting — if  I
could  stand  the  diet."

"Would  you?  I  don't  know  what  I'd  rather  do.
I  like  almost  everything.  It  makes  me  paint  better  to
talk  to  a  pretty  woman,  for  example.  To  kiss  her
inspires  a  masterpiece."

"Does   it?"   said   Neville,  thoughtfully.
