to take out a cigarette. "Have a smoke!" he suggested after a moment,
proffering his case.

Rufus did not so much as see it. His whole attitude was one of strain,
as if he barely held himself back from springing at the other's throat.

Knight, however, was elaborately unconscious of any tension. He smiled
and closed his cigarette case. Then with the utmost deliberation he
searched for his matches, found them, and lighted his cigarette.

Having puffed forth the first deep breath with luxurious enjoyment, he
spoke again. "It is a little difficult to get a man of your stamp to
comprehend the fact that an artist--a true artist--is not one to be
greatly drawn by the grosser things of life, more especially when he is
in ardent pursuit of that elusive flame called inspiration. But you
would hardly grasp a condition in which the body--and the impulses of
the body--are in complete subjection to the aspirations of the mind.
You"--he blew forth a cloud of smoke--"are probably incapable of
realizing that the worship of beauty can be of so purely artistic a
nature as to be practically free from the physical element, certainly
independent of it. I am taking you out of your depth, I know, but it is
hard to make myself clear to an untrained mind. I might try a homely
simile and suggest to you that you go a-fishing, not for love of the
fish, but because it is your profession; but that does not wholly
illustrate my meaning, for I love everything in the way of beauty that
comes my way. I follow beauty like a guiding star. And sometimes--but
seldom, oh, very seldom"--a sudden odd thrill sounded in his voice as if
by accident some hidden string had been struck and set vibrating--"I
fulfil my desire--I realise my dream--I grasp and hold a spark of the
Divine." He paused again, his face to the gold of the dawn and in his