"My mind is made up. It's no use your trying to stop me. Will you come?" said Hilary Vance firmly.
"I suppose I must," said Mr. James gloomily. "Somebody must try to help you to make as little of a fool of yourself as possible. All my leisure seems to be spent in saving you from the consequences of your follies."
"You are so unsympathetic," said Hilary Vance somewhat bitterly.
"I'm Art's martyr; you can't expect me to like it," said Mr. James. "Let's have tea."
Pollyooly made the tea and laid the table. She and the Lump sat down to it, as did Mr. James. Hilary Vance took his walking up and down the studio. He was too full of nervous energy to sit down save when he was working.
"Well, let's hear about this new idiocy," said Mr. James with the gloomy frankness of a friend. "I'll have three lumps in my tea to-day, Pollyooly, please. My bitter lot needs sweetening."
"Idiocy! It's no idiocy!" cried Hilary Vance indignantly. "I read about it in William James' Varieties of Religious Experience; and then I
