"Oh, no, not despised. But it seems such a pity--"

"There is another kind of life, Iris, which you do not know. You must
let me teach you. It is the life of Art. If you would only condescend
to show the least curiosity about me, Iris, I would try to show you
something of the Art life."

"How can I show curiosity about you, Arnold? I feel none."

"No; that is just the thing which shames me. I have felt the most
lively curiosity about you, and I have asked you thousands of
impertinent questions."

"Not impertinent, Arnold. If you want to ask any more, pray do. I dare
say you cannot understand my simple life."

"And you ask me nothing at all about myself. It isn't fair, Iris."

"Why should I? I know you already."

"You know nothing at all about me."

"Oh, yes, I know you very well indeed. I knew you before you came
here. You showed me yourself in your letters. You are exactly like the
portrait I drew of you. I never thought, for instance, that you were
an old gentleman, as you thought me." He laughed. It was a new thing
to see Iris using, even gently, the dainty weapons of satire.

"But you do not know what I am, or what is my profession, or anything
at all about me."