The House of the Vampire

o New York, tossed his conductor's wand excitedly through the air, drowni

y movement of his agile body detracted attention from the figure of Reginald Cl

uspicion of silver in his crown of dark hair only added dignity to his bearing, while the infinitely ramified lines above the heavy-set mouth spoke at once of subtlety and of strength. Without stretch of t

rom all sides, inclining his head with special politeness to a young woman whose sea

m wild-eyed, as a damned soul in purgatory might look at Satan passing

. Evidently her passion was unreciprocated. It had not always been so. There was a time in her career, some years ago in Paris, when it was whispered that she had secretly married him and, not much later, obtained a divorce. The matter was never cleared up, as both preserved an

of Reginald Clarke. He had entered her life and, behold! the world was transfixed on her canvases in myriad hues of transcending radiance; he had

btle and profound, he had ransacked the coffers of mediaeval dialecticians and plundered the arsenals of the Sophists. Many years later, when the vultures of misfortune had swooped down upon him, and his

aped in him at the thought that henceforth he would be privileged to live under one roof with the only writer

his strength. Clarke's style possessed at once the chiselled chasteness of a Greek marble column and the elaborate deviltry of the late Renaissance. At times his winged words see

street. Reginald wrapped his

you to-morrow at

ep and melodious, suggesting

l be pu

's voice trembl

oming with much pleasure.

eeks at praise from the austere lips

e smile crept over the

rk interests you," was

t," here Clarke drew out a watch set with j

d. The crowd jostling against him carried him almost off his feet, but his eyes followed far into the night the masterful figure