understand. He was as singularly methodical as Reanda was exceptionally
intuitive.
She felt that his work was second to her in his estimation of it, but
that, since they both depended upon it for their livelihood,
they had agreed together to put it first. With Reanda, art was above
everything
and beyond all other interests, and he had made her feel that he worked
for art's sake rather than
for hers. There was a vast difference in the value placed upon her by
the two men,
in relation
to their two occupations.
"I have no genius," said Griggs to her one day. "I have no intuitions
of underlying truth. But
I have good brains, and few men are able to work as hard as I. By and
bye, I shall
succeed and make money, and it will be less dull for you." "It is never
dull for me when I can be with you," she answered. As he looked, the
sunshine caught her red auburn hair, and the love-lights
played with the sunshine in her eyes. Griggs knew that
life had no more dulness for him while she lived, and as for her, he
believed what she said. Without letting him know what she was doing,
she wrote to her father. It was not an easy letter
to write, and she thought that she knew the savage old Scotchman's
temper. She told him everything. At such a distance, it was easy to
throw herself upon his mercy, and it was safer to write him all while
he was far away, so that there might be nothing left to rouse his anger
if he returned. She had no lack of words with which to describe
Reanda's treatment of her;
but s
