where men carpentered or drove horses or sold things in shops.
Deeply impressed by the knowledge of Paul's romantic birth and high
destiny she could not suggest any such lowly avocations, and she did
not know what men's jobs were usually executed by scions of the
nobility. A clerk's work was certainly genteel; but even that would
be lowering to the hero. She glanced at him again, swiftly. No, he
was too beautiful to be penned up in an office from nine to
six-thirty every day of his life. On the other hand her feminine
intuition appreciated keenly the withering criticism of Higgins.
Ever since Paul had first told her of his engagements at the Life
Schools she had shrunk from the idea. It was all very well for the
boy; but for the man--and being younger than he, she regarded him
now as a man--there was something in it that offended her nice
sense of human dignity.

"Well," he said. "Tell me, what do you call a man's job?"

"Oh, I don't know," she said in distress; "something you do with
your hands or your brain."

"You think being a model is undignified."

"Yes."

"So do I," said Paul. "But I'm doing things with my brain, too, you
know," he added quickly, anxious to be seen again on his pedestal.
"I am getting on with my epic poem. I've done a lot since you last
heard it. I'll read you the rest when we get home."

"That will be lovely," said Jane, to whom the faculty of rhyming was