"But is there no profession that appeals to you--for which you feel that
you might have a taste?" Her dark eyes were very earnest.

"Not the ghost of one," said he, dissembling his amusement.
"Professions--don't they all more or less involve sitting shut up in
stuffy offices, among pigeon-holes full of dusty and futile papers,
doing tiresome tasks for the greater glory of other people, like a slave
in the hold of a galley? No, if I'm to work, I must work at something
that will keep me above decks--something that will keep me out of
doors, in touch with the air and the earth. I might become an
agricultural labourer,--but that's not very munificently paid; or a
farmer,--but that would require perhaps more capital than I could
command, and anyhow the profits are uncertain. I've an uncle who's a bit
of a farmer, and year in, year out, I believe he makes a loss. 'Well,
what's left? ... Ah, a gardener. I don't think I should half mind being
a gardener."

Maria Dolores looked as if she weren't sure whether or not to take him
seriously.

"A gardener? That's not very munificently paid either, is it?" she
suggested, trying her ground.

"Alas, I fear not," sighed John. Then he made a grave face. "But would
you have me entirely mercenary? Money isn't everything here below."

Maria Dolores smiled. She saw that for the moment at least he was not to
be taken seriously.

"True," she agreed, "though it ran in my mind that to earn money, so