certain original traits in the modest observations of the youth. One
topic drifted into another, and soon the two were engaged in an
animated discussion about pursuits in life. It was in the course of
this that Austin let drop the one word--Art.

"What is Art?" queried St Aubyn.

Austin hesitated for some moments. Then he said, very slowly:

"That is a question to which a dozen answers might be given. A whole
book would be required to deal with it."

St Aubyn was delighted, both at the reply and at the hesitation that
had preceded it.

"And are you an artist?" he enquired.

"I believe I am," replied Austin, very seriously. "Of course one
doesn't like to be too confident, and I can't draw a single line, but
still----"

"Good again," approved the other. "Here as in everything else all
depends upon the definition. What is an artist?"

"An artist," exclaimed Austin, kindling, "is one who can see the
beauty everywhere."

"_The_ beauty?" repeated St Aubyn.

"The beauty that exists everywhere, even in ugly things. The beauty