We speak a different language--we 're made of a different clay. I had a
fit of rage yesterday when I smashed his bust, at the thought of all the
bad blood he had stirred up in me; it did me good, and it 's all over
now. I don't hate him any more; I 'm rather sorry for him. See how you
've improved me! I must have seemed to him wilfully, wickedly stupid,
and I 'm sure he only tolerated me on account of his great regard for my
mother. This morning I grasped the bull by the horns. I took an armful
of law-books that have been gathering the dust in my room for the last
year and a half, and presented myself at the office. 'Allow me to put
these back in their places,' I said. 'I shall never have need for
them more--never more, never more, never more!' 'So you 've learned
everything they contain?' asked Striker, leering over his spectacles.
'Better late than never.' 'I 've learned nothing that you can teach me,'
I cried. 'But I shall tax your patience no longer. I 'm going to be a
sculptor. I 'm going to Rome. I won't bid you good-by just yet; I shall
see you again. But I bid good-by here, with rapture, to these four
detested walls--to this living tomb! I did n't know till now how I hated
it! My compliments to Mr. Spooner, and my thanks for all you have not
made of me!'"

"I 'm glad to know you are to see Mr. Striker again," Rowland answered,
correcting a primary inclination to smile. "You certainly owe him a
respectful farewell, even if he has not understood you. I confess you
rather puzzle me. There is another person," he presently added, "whose
opinion as to your new career I should like to know. What does Miss
Garland think?"

Hudson looked at him keenly, with a slight blush. Then, with a conscious
smile, "What makes you suppose she thinks anything?" he asked.