As they passed the massive, stone pillars of the entrance to the grounds,
Conrad Lagrange said, "Really, Aaron, don't you feel a little ashamed of
yourself?--coming here to-night, after the outrageous return you have made
for the generous hospitality of these people? You know that if Mrs. Taine
had seen what you have done to her portrait, you could force the pearly
gates easier than you could break in here."
The artist laughed. "To tell the truth, I don't feel exactly at home. But
what the deuce can I do? After my intimacy with them, all these months, I
can't assume that they are going to make my picture a reason for refusing
to recognize me, can I? As I see it, they, not I, must take the
initiative. I can't say: 'Well, I've told the truth about you, so throw me
out'."
The novelist grinned. "Thus it is when 'Art' becomes entangled with the
family of 'Materialism.' It's hard to break away from the flesh-pots--even
when you know you are on the road to the Promised Land. But don't
worry--'The Age' will take the initiative fast enough when she sees your
portrait of her. Wow! In the meantime, let's play their game to-night, and
take what spoils the gods may send. There will be material here for
pictures and stories a plenty.
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