on her beauty, or on her fine voice. That is nothing she has
done herself. I should like you to value what I have done, not
what I happen to be.''

Miss Langham turned her eyes to the harbor, and it was some short
time before she answered.

``You are a very difficult person to please,'' she said,
``and most exacting. As a rule men are satisfied to be liked for
any reason. I confess frankly, since you insist upon it, that I
do not rise to the point of appreciating your work as the others
do. I suppose it is a fault,'' she continued, with an air that
plainly said that she considered it, on the contrary, something
of a virtue. ``And if I knew more about it technically, I might
see more in it to admire. But I am looking farther on for better
things from you. The friends who help us the most are not always
those who consider us perfect, are they?'' she asked, with a
kindly smile. She raised her eyes to the great ore-pier that
stretched out across the water, the one ugly blot in the scene of
natural beauty about them. ``I think that is all very well,''
she said; ``but I certainly expect you to do more than that. I
have met many remarkable men in all parts of the world, and I
know what a strong man is, and you have one of the strongest
personalities I have known. But you can't mean that you are
content to stop with this. You should be something bigger and
more wide-reaching and more lasting. Indeed, it hurts me to see
you wasting your time here over my father's interests. You
should exert that same energy on a broader map. You could make
yourself anything you chose. At home you would be your party's
leader in politics, or you could be a great general, or a