"It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. To shore up a business that never had any foundation, he wanted me to lend him a hundred thousand; and for his sake as well as for mine I had to refuse. The darkness was almost palpable; and the wind which, hitherto, had been blowing in gusts, was suddenly lulled. "What is it you want?" she asked, as she held out the coat. He’s a prig to the finger-tips, is Sir John—doesn’t know what an artist is. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart.
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