over　life。　　This；　however；　is　a　consummation　which　will　remain
  devoutly　to　be　wished；　for　there　is　a　limit　to　human　complaisance。
  One　will　never　know　the　exact　measure　of　one's　infecting　power；　or
  whether；　indeed；　one　is　not　just　a　long　soporific。
  A　writer　they　say；　should　not　favouritize　among　his　creations；　but
  then　a　writer　should　not　do　so　many　things　that　be　does。　　This
  writer；　certainly；　confesses　to　having　favourites；　and　of　his　novels
  so　far　be　likes　best：　The　Forsyte　Series；　〃The　Country　House〃；
  〃Fraternity〃；　〃The　Dark　Flower〃；　and　〃Five　Tales〃；　believing　these　to
  be　the　works　which　most　fully　achieve　fusion　of　seer　with　thing　seen；
  most　subtly　disclose　the　individuality　of　their　author；　and　best
  reveal　such　of　truth　as　has　been　vouchsafed　to　him。
  JOHN　GALSWORTHY。
  TO
  MY　SISTER
  BLANCHE　LILIAN　SAUTER
  VILLA　RUBEIN
  I
  Walking　along　the　river　wall　at　Botzen；　Edmund　Dawney　said　to　Alois
  Harz：　〃Would　you　care　to　know　the　family　at　that　pink　house；　Villa
  Rubein？〃
  Harz　answered　with　a　smile：
  〃Perhaps。〃
  〃Come　with　me　then　this　afternoon。〃
  They　had　stopped　before　an　old　house　with　a　blind；　deserted　look；
  that　stood　by　itself　on　the　wall；　Harz　pushed　the　door　open。
  〃Come　in；　you　don't　want　breakfast　yet。　　I'm　going　to　paint　the　river
  to…day。〃
  He　ran　up　the　bare　broad　stairs；　and　Dawney　followed　leisurely；　his
  thumbs　hooked　in　the　armholes　of　his　waistcoat；　and　his　head　thrown
  back。
  In　the　attic　which　filled　the　whole　top　story；　Harz　had　pulled　a
  canvas　to　the　window。　　He　was　a　young　man　of　middle　height；　square
  shouldered；　active；　with　an　angular　face；　high　cheek…bones；　and　a
  strong；　sharp　chin。　　His　eyes　were　piercing　and　steel…blue；　his
  eyebrows　very　flexible；　nose　long　and　thin　with　a　high　bridge；　and
  his　dark；　unparted　hair　fitted　him　like　a　cap。　　His　clothes　looked　as
  if　he　never　gave　them　a　second　thought。
  This　room；　which　served　for　studio；　bedroom；　and　sitting…room；　was
  bare　and　dusty。　　Below　the　window　the　river　in　spring　flood　rushed
  down　the　valley；　a　stream；　of　molten　bronze。　　Harz　dodged　before　the
  canvas　like　a　fencer　finding　his　distance；　Dawney　took　his　seat　on　a
  packingcase。
  〃The　snows　have　gone　with　a　rush　this　year；〃　he　drawled。　　〃The　Talfer
  comes　down　brown；　the　Eisack　comes　down　blue；　they　flow　into　the
  Etsch　and　make　it　green；　a　parable　of　the　Spring　for　you；　my
  painter。〃
  Harz　mixed　his　colours。
  〃I've　no　time　for　parables；〃　he　said；　〃no　time　for　anything。　　If　I
  could　be　guaranteed　to　live　to　ninety…nine；　like　Titianhe　had　a
  chance。　　Look　at　that　poor　fellow　who　was　killed　the　other　day！　　All
  that　struggle；　and　thenjust　at　the　turn！〃
  He　spoke　English　with　a　foreign　accent；　his　voice　was　rather　harsh；
  but　his　smile　very　kindly。
  Dawney　lit　a　cigarette。
  〃You　painters；〃　he　said；　〃are　better　off　than　most　of　us。　　You　can
  strike　out　your　own　line。　　Now　if　I　choose　to　treat　a　case　out　of　the
  ordinary　way　and　the　patient　dies；　I'm　ruined。〃
  〃My　dear　Doctorif　I　don't　paint　what　the　public　likes；　I　starve；
  all　the　same　I'm　going　to　paint　in　my　own　way；　in　the　end　I　shall
  come　out　on　top。〃
  〃It　pays　to　work　in　the　groove；　my　friend；　until　you've　made　your
  name；　after　thatdo　what　you　like；　they'll　lick　your　boots　all　the
  same。〃
  〃Ah；　you　don't　love　your　work。〃
  Dawney　answered　slowly：　〃Never　so　happy　as　when　my　hands　are　full。
  But　I　want　to　make　money；　to　get　known；　to　have　a　good　time；　good
  cigars；　good　wine。　　I　hate　discomfort。　　No；　my　boy；　I　must　work　it　on
  the　usual　lines；　I　don't　like　it；　but　I　must　lump　it。　　One　starts　in
  life　with　some　notion　of　the　idealit's　gone　by　the　board　with　me。
  I've　got　to　shove　along　until　I've　made　my　name；　and　then；　my　little
  manthen〃
  〃Then　you'll　be　soft！　　〃You　pay　dearly　for　that　first　period！〃
  〃Take　my　chance　of　that；　there's　no　other　way。〃
  〃Make　one！〃
  〃Humph！〃
  Harz　poised　his　brush；　as　though　it　were　a　spear：
  〃A　man　must　do　the　best　in　him。　　If　he　has　to　sufferlet　him！〃
  Dawney　stretched　his　large　soft　body；　a　calculating　look　had　come
  into　his　eyes。
  〃You're　a　tough　little　man！〃　he　said。
  〃I've　had　to　be　tough。〃
  Dawney　rose；　tobacco　smoke　was　wreathed　round　his　unruffled　hair。
  〃Touching　Villa　Rubein；〃　he　said；　〃shall　I　call　for　you？　　It's　a
  mixed　household；　English　mostlyvery　decent　people。〃
  〃No；　thank　you。　　I　shall　be　painting　all　day。　　Haven't　time　to　know
  the　sort　of　people　who　expect　one　to　change　one's　clothes。〃
  〃As　you　like；　ta…to！〃　　And；　puffing　out　his　chest；　Dawney　vanished
  through　a　blanket　looped　across　the　doorway。
  Harz　set　a　pot　of　coffee　on　a　spirit…lamp；　and　cut　himself　some
  bread。　　Through　the　window　the　freshness　of　the　morning　came；　the
  scent　of　sap　and　blossom　and　young　leaves；　the　scent　of　earth；　and
  the　mountains　freed　from　winter；　the　new　flights　and　songs　of　birds；
  all　the　odorous；　enchanted；　restless　Spring。
  There　suddenly　appeared　through　the　doorway　a　white　rough…haired
  terrier　dog；　black…marked　about　the　face；　with　shaggy　tan　eyebrows。
  He　sniffed　at　Harz；　showed　the　whites　round　his　eyes；　and　uttered　a
  sharp　bark。　　A　young　voice　called：
  〃Scruff！　Thou　naughty　dog！〃　　Light　footsteps　were　heard　on　the
  stairs；　from　the　distance　a　thin；　high　voice　called：
  〃Greta！　You　mustn't　go　up　there！〃
  A　little　girl　of　twelve；　with　long　fair　hair　under　a　wide…brimmed
  hat；　slipped　in。
  Her　blue　eyes　opened　wide；　her　face　flushed　up。　　That　face　was　not
  regular；　its　cheek…bones　were　rather　prominent；　the　nose　was
  flattish；　there　was　about　it　an　air；　innocent；　reflecting；　quizzical；
  shy。
  〃Oh！〃　she　said。
  Harz　smiled：　〃Good…morning！　　This　your　dog？〃
  She　did　not　answer；　but　looked　at　him　with　soft　bewilderment；　then
  running　to　the　dog　seized　him　by　the　collar。
  〃Scr…ruff！　Thou　naughty　dog…the　baddest　dog！〃　　The　ends　of　her　hair
  fell　about　him；　she　looked　up　at　Harz；　who　said：
  〃Not　at　all！　　Let　me　give　him　some　bread。〃
  〃Oh　no！　You　must　notI　will　beat　himand　tell　him　he　is　bad；　then
  he　shall　not　do　such　things　again。　　Now　he　is　sulky；　he　looks　so
  always　when　he　is　sulky。　　Is　this　your　home？〃
  〃For　the　present；　I　am　a　visitor。〃
  〃But　I　think　you　are　of　this　country；　because　you　speak　like　it。〃
  〃Certainly；　I　am　a　Tyroler。〃
  〃I　have　to　talk　English　this　morning；　but　I　do　not　like　it　very　much…
  …because；　also　I　am　half　Austrian；　and　I　like　it　best；　but　my　sister；
  Christian；　is　all　English。　　Here　is　Miss　Naylor；　she　shall　be　very
  angry　with　me。〃
  And　pointing　to　the　entrance　with　a　rosy…tipped　forefinger；　she　again
  looked　ruefully　at　Harz。
  There　came　into　the　room　with　a　walk　like　the　hopping　of　a　bird　an
  elderly；　small　lady；　in　a　grey　serge　dress；　with　narrow　bands　of
  claret…coloured　velveteen；　a　large　gold　cross　dangled　from　a　steel
  chain　on　her　chest；　she　nervously　twisted　her　hands；　clad　in　black
  kid　gloves；　rather　white　about　the　seams。
  Her　hair　was　prematurely　grey；　her　quick　eyes　brown；　her　mouth
  twisted　at　one　corner；　she　held　her　face；　kind…looking；　but　long　and
  narrow；　rather　to　one　side；　and　wore　on　it　a　look　of　apology。　　Her
  quick　sentences　sounded　as　if　she　kept　them　on　strings；　and　wanted　to
  draw　them　back　as　soon　as　she　had　let　them　forth。
  〃Greta；　how　can；　you　do　such　things？　　I　don't　know　what　your　father
  would　say！　　I　am　sure　I　don't　know　how　toso　extraordinary〃
  〃Please！〃　said　Harz。
  〃You　must　come　at　onceso　very　sorryso　awkward！〃　　They　were
  standing　in　a　ring：　Harz　with　his　eyebrows　working　up　and　down；　the
  little　lady　fidgeting　her　parasol；　Greta；　flushed　and　pouting；　her
  eyes　all　dewy；　twisting　an　end　of　fair　hair　round　her　finger。
  〃Oh；　look！〃　　The　coffee　had　boiled　over。　　Little　brown　streams
  trickled　spluttering　from　the　pan；　the　dog；　with　ears　laid　back　and
  tail　tucked　in；　went　scurrying　round　the　room。　　A　feeling　of
  fellowship　fell　on　them　at　once。
  〃Along　the　wall　is　our　favourite　walk；　and　Scruffso　awkward；　so
  unfortunatewe　did　not　think　any　one　lived　herethe　shutters　are
  cracked；　the　paint　is　peeling　off　so　dreadfully。　　Have　you　been　long
  in　Botzen？　　Two　months？　　Fancy！　　You　are　not　English？　　You　are
  Tyrolese？　　But　you　speak　English　so　wellthere　for　seven　years？
  Really？　　So　fortunate！It　is　Greta's　day　for　English。〃
  Miss　Naylor's　eyes　darted　bewildered　glances　at　the　roof　where　the
  crossing　of　the　beams　made　such　deep　shadows；　at　the　litter　of
  brushes；　tools；　knives；　and　colours　on　a　table　made　out　of　packing…
  cases；　at　the　big　window；　innocent　of　glass；　and　flush　with　the
  floor；　whence　dangled　a　bit　of　rusty　chainrelic　of　the　time　when
  the　place　had　been　a　store…loft；　her　eyes　were　hastily　averted　from
  an　unfnished　figure　of　the　nude。
  Greta；　with　feet　crossed；　sat　on　a　coloured　blanket；　dabbling　her
  fnger　in　a　little　pool