"Oh, you're a much harder worker than any day labourer. And the saddest
part of it to me is that you work altogether for others. You give, give and
get in return nothing but a few flattering glances, a few careless pats on
the back of your vanity. I should hate to work so hard for so little."

"But what would you do?" Miss Trevor was looking at him, interested and
amused.

"Well, I'd work for myself. I'd insist on a return, on getting back
something equivalent or near it. I'd insist on having my mind improved, or
having my power or my reputation advanced."

"I was only jesting when I said that about people not counting."

"Altogether?"

"No, not altogether. I don't care much about the masses. They seem to me to
be underbred, of a different sort. I hate doing things that are useful and
I hate people that do useful things--in a general way, I mean."

"That is doubtless due to defective education," said Howard, with a smile
that carried off the thrust as a jest.

"Is that the way you'd describe a horror of contact with--well, with
unpleasant things?" Miss Trevor was serious.

"But is it that? Isn't it just an unconscious affectation, taken up simply
because all the people about you think that way--if one can call the
process thinking? You don't think, do you, that it is a sign of superiority
to be narrow, to be ignorant, to be out of touch with the great masses of