"I suppose to-morrow--if we desire the company of these distinguished artists--we will have to follow--them to the mountains.

I don't blame you, gentlemen--if I was not--ah--temporarily incapacitated--I would certainly--go for a little trip to the inspiring hills--myself.

Even if I don't know--as much about _music_ and _art_ as some of you." Again his words were interrupted by that racking cough, the sound of which was lost in the applause that greeted his witticism.

Lifting the glass once more, he continued, "So here's to our girl musician--who is her own--lovely self so much more attractive than any music--she can ever make." He drained the glass, and sank back into his chair, exhausted by his effort.
Aaron King was on the point of springing to his feet, when Conrad Lagrange caught his eye with a warning look.

Instantly, he remembered what the result would be if he should yield to his impulse.