That terror of misgiving, lulled into quietude here in the peace and charm of his life with Joan, stirred within him hydra-headed and drove the color from his face.

Then he blazed into rebellion.
Failure! Vanity! Self! And Adam to-night had fused the verdict of the other three.
Whether or not these things were true was at first of little moment.
The sting lay in the fact that someone had troubled to think them.

The careless illusion, that what he thought of himself the world thought, lay at his feet pricked into utter collapse.

It seemed to him as he walked the floor in a tumult of hurt pride, that the world must accept the man he knew himself to be, the man whose light-hearted existence he loved to dramatize, a brilliant painter with piquant imperfections, intensely human and delightful.

He passionately demanded that it accept him so without question.