Damn me, but I'm game for a good time yet! A little off my feed, and under the weather; but game, you understand, game as hell!" Then to the attendant--"Where's that whisky ?" And, again, his yellow, claw-like hand--with that beautiful diamond, a gleaming point of pure, white light--lifted the glass to his grinning lips.
When Mrs.Taine appeared to claim the artist, her husband--huddled in his chair, an unclean heap of all but decaying flesh--watched them go, with hidden, impotent rage.
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.