These two respected not only themselves but each other.  The ensuing conversation showed that Mr. Prince was somewhat disgusted with the mundane movement, and that Marguerite was his disciple.  They were more and more leaving the world alone; their self-sufficiency was increasing with the narrow regularity of their habits.  They seldom went out; and when they did, they came home the more deeply convinced that all was not well with the world, and that they belonged to the small remnant of the wise and the sane.  George was in two minds about them, or rather about Mr. Prince.  He secretly condescended to him, but on the other hand he envied him.  The man was benevolent; he spent his life in the creation of beauty; and he was secure.  Surely an ideal existence!  Yes, George wished that he could say as much for himself.  Marguerite, completely deprived of ambition, would never have led any man into insecurity.  He had realized already that afternoon that there were different degrees of success; he now realized that there were different kinds of success.

“Well!” he rose suddenly.  “I must be off.  I’m very busy.”

“I suppose you are,” said Mr. Prince.  Untrue to assert that his glance was never wistful!  It was ever so slightly wistful then.

George comprehended that Mr. Prince admired him and looked up to him after all.

“My town hall is being opened to-morrow.”

“So I saw,” said Mr. Prince.  “I congratulate you.”

They knew a good deal about him—­where he lived, the statistics of his family, and so on.  He picked up his hat.

“I can’t tell you how I appreciate your coming,” said Marguerite, gazing straight into his eyes.

“Rather!” said Mr. Prince.

They were profoundly flattered by the visit of this Bird-of-paradise.  But they did not urge him to stay longer.

As he was leaving, the door already open, George noticed a half-finished book-cover design on a table.

“So you’re still doing these binding designs!” He stopped to examine.

Husband and wife, always more interested in their own affairs than in other people’s, responded willingly to his curiosity.  George praised, and his praise was greatly esteemed.  Mr. Prince talked about the changes in trade bindings, which were all for the worse.  The bright spot was that Marguerite’s price for a design had risen to twenty-five shillings.  This improvement was evidently a source of genuine satisfaction to them.  To George it seemed pathetic that a rise, after vicissitudes, of four shillings in fourteen years should be capable of causing them so much joy.  He and they lived in absolutely different worlds.

“This is the last I shall let her do for a long time,” observed Mr. Prince.  “I shouldn’t have let her do this one, but the doctor, who’s a friend of ours, said there wouldn’t be any harm, and of course it’s always advisable to break a connexion as little as possible.  You never know....”