He knew that in some ways he had disappointed her; and there was gall in the thought.

As to the London plan, his word would no longer be enough.

He would have to wrestle with and overcome her.
London!--the word chimed him from the past--threw wide the future.

He moved on along the rough road, possessed by dreams.

He had a vision of his first large picture; himself rubbing in the figures, life-size, or at work on the endless studies for every part--fellow-students coming to look, Academicians, buyers; he heard himself haranguing, plunging headlong into ideas and theories, holding his own with the best of 'the London chaps.' Between whiles, of course, there would be hack-work--illustration--portraits--anything to keep the pot boiling.
And always, at the end of this vista, there was success--success great and tangible.
He was amused by his own self-confidence, and laughed as he walked.
But his mood never wavered.
He _had_ the power--the gift.