The Eyes of the World

ay,--people of different classes live in different parts of the city. As certain streets and blocks are given to the wholesale establishments, others to retail stores, and still others to the man

to exhibit for his critical inspection the charm of her physical beauty--"Look at me; am I to waste all _this_ upon you? You tell me that you have had your money's worth--surely, the purchase price is mine to spend as I will. Even suppose that I were as evil as your foul mind sees me, what right have you to object? Are you so chaste that you dare cast a stone at me? Am I to have no pleasure in this hell you have made for me but the horrible pleasure of watching you in the hell you have made for yourself? Be satisfied that the world does not see your shame--though it's from no consideration of you, but wholly for myself, that I am careful. As for my modesty--you know it is not a fad but a necessity.""That is just it"--he retorted--"it is the way you make a fad of a necessity! Forced to hide your shoulders, you make a virtue of concealment. You make capital of the very thing of which you are ashamed.""And is not that exactly what we all do?" she asked with brutal cynicism. "Do you not fear the eyes of the world as much as I? Be satisfied that I play the game of respectability with you--that I give the world no cause for talk. You may as well be," she finished with devilish frankness, "for you are past helping yourself in the matter."As she finished, a servant appeared to announce Mr. Conrad Lagrange; and the tall, uncouth figure of the novelist stood framed in the doorway; his sharp eyes regarding them with that peculiar, quizzing, baffling look.Edward Taine laughed with that horrid chuckle. "Howdy-do, Lagrange--glad to see you."Mrs. Taine went forward to greet the caller; saying as she gave him her hand, "You arrived just in time, Mr. Lagrange; Edward and I were discussing your latest book. We think it a masterpiece of realistic fiction. I'm sure it will add immensely to your fame. I hear it talked of everywhere as the most popular novel of the year. You wonderful man! How do you do it?""I don't do it," answered Conrad Lagrange, looking straight into her eyes. "It does itself. My books are really true products of the age that reads them; and--to paraphrase a statesman who was himself a product of his age--for those who read my books they are just the kind of books that I would expect such people to read."Mrs. Taine looked at him with a curious, half-doubtful half-wistful expression; as though she glimpsed a hint of a meaning that did not appear upon the surface of his words. "You do say such--such--twisty things," she murmured. "I don't think I always understand what you mean; but when you look at me that way, I feel as though my maid had neglected to finish hooking me up."The novelist bowed in mock gallantry--a movement which made his ungainly form appear more grotesque than ever. "Indeed, madam, to my humble eyes, you are most beautifully and fittingly--ah--hooked up." He turned toward the invalid. "And how is the fortunate husband of the charming Mrs. Taine to-day?""Fine, Lagrange, fine," said the man--a cough interrupting his words. "Really, I think that Gertrude is unduly alarmed about my condition. In this glorious climate, I feel like a three-year-old.""You _are_ looking quite like yourself," returned the novelist."There's nothing at all the matter with me but a slight bronchial trouble," continued the other, coughing again. Then, to his wife--"Dearest, won't you ring, please; I'm sure it's time for my toddy; perhaps Mr. Lagrange will join me in a drink. What'll it be, Lagrange?""Nothing, thanks, at this hour.""No? But you'll pardon me, I'm sure--Doctor's orders you know."A servant appeared. Mrs. Taine took the glass and carried it to her husband with her own hand, saying with tender solicitude, "Don't you think, dear, that you should lie down for a while? Mr. Lagrange will remain for dinner, you know. You must not tire yourself. I'm sure he will excuse you. I'll manage somehow to amuse him until Jim and Louise return.""I believe I will rest a little, Gertrude." He turned to the guest--"While there is nothing really wrong, you know, Lagrange, still it's best to be on the safe side.""By all means," said the novelist, heartily. "You should take care of yourself. Don't, I beg, permit me to detain you."Mrs. Taine, with careful tenderness, accompanied her husband to the door. When he had passed from the room, she faced the novelist, with--"Don't you think Edward is really very much worse, Mr. Lagrange? I keep up appearances, you know, but--" she paused with a charming air of perplexed and worried anxiety."Your husband is certainly not a well man, madam--but you keep up appearances wonderfully. I really don't see how you manage it. But I suppose that for one of your nature it is natural."Again, she received his words with that look of doubtful understanding--as though sensing some meaning beneath the polite, commonplace surface. Then, as if to lead away from the subject--"You must really tell me what you think of our California home. I told you in New York, you remember, that I should ask you, the first thing. We were so sorry to have missed you last year. Please be frank. Isn't it beautiful?""Very beautiful"--he answered--"exquisite taste--perfect harmony with modern art." His quizzing eyes twinkled, and a caricature of a smile distorted his face. "It fairly smells to heaven of the flesh pots."She laughed merrily. "The odor should not be unfamiliar to you," she retorted. "By all accounts, your royalties are making you immensely rich. How wonderful it must be to be famous--to know that the whole world is talking about you! And that reminds me--who is your distinguished looking friend at the hotel? I was dying to ask you, the other night, but didn't dare. I know he is somebody famous."Conrad Lagrange, studying her face, answered reluctantly, "No, he is not famous; but I fear he is going to be.""Another twisty saying," she retorted. "But I mean to have an answer, so you may as well speak plainly. Have you known him long? What is his name? And what is he--a writer?""His name is Aaron King. His mother a