Rangely flushed. The thrust too closely resembled reproaches which in
his more sensitive moments he received at the hand of his own inner
consciousness, so to speak, not to make him wince. He felt himself,
besides, becoming involved in a painful position. He had long been the
intimate friend of Grant Herman, and felt that the sculptor had a right
to expect whatever aid he could give him in a matter like this.

"But who," he asked, "is your _protege?_"

"His name," Mrs. Staggchase replied, "is Orin Stanton. He is a fellow
of the greatest talent, and he has worked his way"--

Rangely put up his hand in a gesture of impatience.

"I know the fellow," he said. "He made a thing he called _Hop Scotch_,
of which Fenton said the title was far too modest, since he'd not only
scotched the subject but killed it."

"One never knew Mr. Fenton to waste the chance of saying a good thing
simply for the sake of justice," Mrs. Staggchase observed, with
unabated good humor. "But you are to help us in the _Daily Observer_,
and there is to be no discussion about it. Since you know you are too
good-natured not to oblige me in the end, why should you not do it
gracefully and get the credit of being willing."

And then, being a wise woman, she disregarded Rangely's muttered
remonstrance and turned the conversation into a new channel.