"I am beginning to find myself, to believe in myself." "You expect to find complete satisfaction in this way ?" "Complete?
Oh, no; one never does that, you know, unless, possibly, the ideals are very low; but more than I can hope to find elsewhere.
Even now I am certainly happier in the work than I have been for years." She looked up at him quickly, her eyes pleading.

"It is not the glitter, the sham, the applause," she hastened to explain, "but the real work itself, that attracts and rewards me--the hidden labor of fitly interpreting character--the hard, secret study after details.
This has become a positive passion, an inspiration.

I may never become the perfected artist of which I sometimes dream, yet it must be that I have within me a glimmering of that art.

I feel it, and cannot remain false to it." "Possibly love may enter to change your plans," he ventured to suggest, influenced by the constantly changing expression of her face.
She flushed to the roots of her hair, yet her lips laughed lightly.
"I imagine such an unexpected occurrence would merely serve to strengthen them," she replied quickly.

"I cannot conceive of any love so supremely selfish as to retard the development of a worthy ideal.
But really, there is small need yet of discussing such a possibility." She stood aside as he made a movement toward the open door, yet, when he had stepped forth into the hall, she halted him with a sudden question: "Do you intend returning at once to Denver ?" "No, I shall remain here." She said nothing, but he clearly read a farther unasked question in her face.
"I remain here, Miss Norvell, while you do.