Have you never thought of what you might
do, that would be even better than the career you had planned?"
"Why, no. What could I do, without--"
"Write," she said, with her eyes shining. "Let others play what you
write. Immortality comes by way of the printed page."
"I couldn't," he returned, doubtfully.
"I never composed anything except two or three little things that I
never dared to play, even for encores."
"Never say you can't. Say 'I must,' and 'I will.'"
"You're saying them for me. You almost make me believe in myself."
"That's the very best of beginnings, isn't it?"
She was quite calm now, outwardly, and she drew her hand away. Allison
remembered the long, happy hours they had spent together before Isabel
came into his life. Now that she was gone, the old comradeship had
returned, the sweeter because of long absence. Rose had never fretted
nor annoyed him; she seemed always to understand.
"You don't know how glad I'd be," he sighed, "to feel that I wasn't
quite out of it--that there was something in life for me still. I didn't
want to be a bit of driftwood on the current of things.
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