Whether it was the artist's mother; some sacredly hidden memories of
Lagrange's past; or, perhaps, some fancied recognition of the artist's
genius and its possibilities; the strange man gave no hint; but he
constantly sought the company of Aaron King, with an openness that made
his preference for the painter's society very evident. If he had said
anything about it, at all, Conrad Lagrange, likely, would have accounted
for his interest, upon the ground that his dog, Czar, found the
companionship agreeable. Their friendship, meanwhile--in the eyes of the
world--conferred a peculiar distinction upon the young man--a distinction
not at all displeasing to the ambitious artist; and the value of which he,
probably, overrated.

To Aaron King--aside from the subtle flattery of the famous novelist's
attention--there was in the personality of the odd character a something
that appealed to him with peculiar strength. Perhaps it was that the man's
words, so often sharp and stinging with bitter sarcasm, seemed always to
carry a hidden meaning that gave, as it were, glimpses of another nature
buried deeply beneath a wreck of ruined dreams and disappointing
achievements. Or, it may have been that, under all the cruel,
world-hardness of the thoughts expressed, the young man sensed an
undertone of pathetic sadness. Or, again, perhaps, it was those rare
moments, when--on some walk that carried them beyond the outskirts of the
town, and brought the mountains into unobstructed view--the clouds of
bitterness were lifted; and the man spoke with poetic feeling of the
realities of life, and of the true glory and mission of the arts;
counseling his friend with an intelligence as true and delicate as it was
rare and fine.

It was nearly two months after Conrad Lagrange had introduced the young