The Argosy — page 131: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Princess Eleanor. Ig forward, his eyes staring wildly, pale as if lifeless, He seemed to be listening with his whole body. At last he whispered, “Is this serious, Eleanor, unhappy one?” I could only bow my head, and then take the place by his side to which he pointed in silence. “If I did not know that you, like all of us, were not ix the least light-hearted or careless, I should heed your mad words as little as they deserve. But I know you, and feel sure you will lend a willing ear to reasonable advice. Therefore will I show you how you have gone astray, and lead you back into the right path.” I pressed his hand, and shook my head, but I did not dare to interrupt him. ‘* Every man in this world inherits from his parents apart of their nature, tastes, and inclinations, which they in their turn have inherited from their fathers. Education and associates complete this inheritance, and form man’s character in so decided a manner that, do what we will, he can never completely change it. Transplant man into a dif- ferent region from that in which he has grown up, and misery will in most cases be the result. You have grown up in the midst of wealth ; you are the favourite spoilt child of those to whom in this world is assigned the very first rank. Impach you never saw but when he. moved in your own world. You have admired him, loved him, if you like, while you saw him as your equal. The romance, dear child, of which your little head is full, will not be understood by our world, who will simply say, ‘A Waldemberg has taken a fancy to a fine young fellow!’ will shrug its shoulders, and turn its back upon you—for to accept the young man as its equal you cannot expect it to do. Such a marriage, Eleanor, is not only impossible ; it would in itself be the most miserable affair I can think of” “ Emest,” I replied, “I do not wish to reproach you, but remembet your own words: ‘ An artist is everyone’s equal.’ When you said that, you laid the first seed of a powerful tree, which you now think you can uproot without an effort.” “You did not understand me rightly at the time. An artist is most certainly everyone’s equal—dut only so long as he stands at his easel, Eleanor. In life there are other hours too, and during those hours he is what he was born.” “ As-long as he paints he is a nobleman in his own right. At other times he shall be one through me.” ““No, Eleanor. He does not rise to your own level, but you descend to his. This marriage would not elevate him—it would degrade you. And do you think the hour would never come when you would repent of having given yourself away so rashly? when you would blush for him? when those who now think it an manent to speak to you would tum away from you?” comicbooks.cont)