A menacing cloud obscured the wintry
moon. A clock sounded the midnight hour.

He threw himself upon the bed and
almost sobbed his thoughts, and their
burden was:

``I am not great enough for her. I
am but a man. I am but a man!''



III

Perkins called in the morning.
Perkins was happy--Perkins was
positively joyous, and Perkins was self-
satisfied. The violinist had made a
great hit. But Perkins, confiding in
the white-coated dispenser who
concocted his matin Martini, very dry, an
hour before, said he regarded the success
due as much to the management as
to the artist. And Perkins believed it.
Perkins usually took all the credit for a
success, and with charming consistency
placed all responsibility for failure on the
shoulders of the hapless artist.

When Perkins entered Diotti's room