she be?"

"And Mrs. Taine?" urged the other.

The novelist responded quickly; "Why, the reigning 'Goddess' in the realm
of 'Modern Art,' is 'The Age,' of course. Do you see? 'The Age' given over
to 'Materialism' for base purposes by his companion, 'Lust.' And you----"
he paused.

"Go on," cried the young man, "who or what am I in your story?"

"You, sir,"--answered Conrad Lagrange, seriously,--"in my story of modern
life, represent Art. It remains to be seen whether 'The Age' will add you
to her collection, or whether some other influence will intervene."

"And you"--persisted the artist--"surely you are in the story."

"I am very much in the story," the other answered. "My name is
'Civilization.' My story will be published when I am dead. I have a
reputation to sustain, you know."

Aaron King was not laughing, now. Something, that lay deep hidden beneath
the rude exterior of the man, made itself felt in his deep voice. Some
powerful force, underlying his whimsical words, gripped the artist's
mind--compelling him to search for hidden meanings in the novelist's
fanciful suggestions.

A few moments passed in silence before the young man said slowly, "I met a
character, yesterday, Mr. Lagrange, that might be added to your cast."