A few moments later, as Mrs. Taine and her charge were leaving one group
of celebrities in search of another they encountered Conrad Lagrange.
"What's this I see?" gibed the novelist, mockingly. "Is it 'Art being led
by Beauty to the Judges and Executioners'? or, is it 'Beauty presenting an
Artist to the Gods of Modern Art'?"
"You had better be helping a good cause instead of making fun, Mr.
Lagrange," the woman retorted. "You weren't always so famous yourself that
you could afford to be indifferent, you know."
Aaron King laughed as his friend replied, "Never fear, madam, never
fear--I shall be on hand to assist at the obsequies."
In the shifting of the groups and figures, when dinner was announced, the
young man found himself, again, within reach of Conrad Lagrange; and the
novelist whispered, with a grin, "Now for the flesh-pots in earnest. You
will be really out of place in the next act, Aaron. Only we artists who
have sold our souls have a right to the price of our shame. _You_ should
dine upon a crust, you know. A genius without his crust, huh! A devil
without his tail, or an ass without his long ears!"
Most conspicuous in the brilliant throng assembled in that banquet hall,
was the horrid figure of Mr.
Pages:
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365