The Light That Never Was by Jr. Lloyd Biggle Read Free Book Online

years, not officially and publicly. Wargen wondered what he was up to.
    He seated his mother in the terraced conservatory off the main rev room and stepped back as a line of servants formed. One rolled up a serving tray, the others deftly filled it as they moved past, and with a disapproving scowl the countess found herself contemplating one of Ronony Gynth’s sumptuous dinners. She loved to eat, but she despised the lozenges that inevitably followed overindulgence. She asked, “Aren’t you hungry, Pet?”
    “I’ll have something later,” Wargen said. He excused himself and left his mother pondering her tray of food amidst the lavish conservatory greenery.
    As he returned to the rev room a hand plucked at his sleeve. “You’re a liar!”
    “You’re a fiend,” Wargen answered calmly.
    Eritha Korak met his eyes sternly and pouted. She was small, attractive without being pretty, and possessed of an inner radiance and a mind and spirit wholly alien to the self-indulgent society of these expatriate or visiting millionaires and noblemen. At the age of ten she had debated foreign policy with full fledged ambassadors, and at the age of fifteen her private tutors confessed that she had completed all the university courses they were qualified to teach. She had found no new worlds to conquer since then. Society did not know what to make of her. As the World Manager’s granddaughter she was entitled to certain social concessions, but she had very little wealth and seemed uninterested in men despite the fact that men of all ages found her fascinating. The young women of her acquaintance hated her thoroughly.
    “You promised to speak with Grandpapa,” she said accusingly.
    “And I did speak with him,” Wargen assured her. “I did and I do. I speak with him almost every day.”
    “About me?”
    “I never promised to speak with him about you. I merely promised to speak with him.”
    “You—you fraud you!”
    “However, I did chance to mention this strange passion of yours for a career in art. He was opposed to it.”
    “Was and is,” she said bitterly. “He says I have no talent. His eyes are so bad that he can’t make out shapes at all, and yet he says—”
    “Have you?”
    “Talent? No.”
    “Then why do you want to study art?”
    “Because I like it. Because I want to know something about it, and the only way to really understand a painting is to take one’s own hand and—” She looked back. “Your mother is glaring at me.”
    “That’s because she thinks you’re a minx.”
    They walked away side by side. “I am a minx,” Eritha said. “I’m also a very bad artist. I’ve flunked the entrance exams to every accredited art school on Donov, and the non-accredited ones don’t want me either. They’re afraid I’ll exhibit my work as evidence of their inept teaching, but I wouldn’t. So I’ll have to go to one of the colonies and learn by doing, and Grandpapa says if I do he’ll cut off my allowance. Do you think he really would?”
    “I’ll guarantee it.”
    “That’s what I thought. Why is it that if I stay at home and fritter away my, time I’m considered respectable if not actually meritorious, and if I try to learn something that will enrich my outlook on life I’m a wanton?”
    “The problem,” Wargen said, “is that most of the non-artists on Donov hate art, and all of them hate artists. You can’t associate with artists without having some of that rub off on you.”
    “But—Grandpapa?”
    “He’s responsible for Donov being an art center, and there must be moments when his conscience is restless about that. In your case, though, he just objects to anyone wasting his time. Did you know he once was an art student himself?”
    “No!”
    Wargen nodded gravely. “He discovered that he had no talent, so he dropped it—just like that—and studied government.” He touched her arm, and they moved toward the center of the room. “To him, the most pathetic figure in modern society