"Perhaps," he said, "that's partly why I want to do it." "Because it won't help you ?" "Because it won't help me on the road to fame.

You _will_ pose for me, won't you ?" "I'm sure I cannot say"-- she answered--"perhaps--please don't let's talk about it." "Why not ?" he asked curiously.
"Because"-- she answered seriously--"we have been such good friends up here in the mountains; such--such comrades.

Up here in the hills, with the canyon gates shut against the world that I don't know, you are like--like Brian Oakley--and like my father used to be--and down there"-- she hesitated.
"Yes," he said, "and down there I will be what ?" "I don't know," she answered wistfully, "but sometimes I can see you going on and on and on toward fame and the rewards it will bring you and you seem to get farther and farther and farther away from--from the mountains and our friendship; until you are so far away that I can't see you any more at all.

I don't like to lose my mountain friends, you know." He smiled.

"But no matter how famous I might become--no matter what fame might bring me--I could not forget you and your mountains." "I would not want you to remember me," she answered "if you were famous.
That is--I mean"-- she added hesitatingly--"if you were famous just because you _wanted_ to be.