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They were there in the beginning; they are immutable. If they shifted, humanity could have no goal." "Is there a goal?" "Where are you going, then?" "Just on." "In your profession there is a goal toward which you sculptors all journey." "Perfection?" Guilder nodded. "But," smiled Drene, "no two sculptors ever see it alike." "It is still Perfection.
He had been inclined to complain one day in the studio, when he and Guilder visited Drene professionally; and Guilder looked at his dapper confrere in surprise and slight disgust; and Drene, at first bored, grew irritable. "What are you talking about?" he said sharply. "I'm talking about Cecile White," continued Quair, looking rather oddly at the sculptor out of his slightly prominent eyes.
After a few moments he stepped nearer, detached the sheet for the present month, then one by one tore off the remaining sheets until he came to the month marked December, Graylock watching him all the while. "I think it happened on Christmas," remarked Drene turning toward the other and laying a finger on the number 25 printed in red. Graylock's head bent slightly. "Very well.
"But we don't," interrupted Guilder, in the temperate voice peculiar to his negative character. "Anyway," insisted Quair, "here's what I think of 'em " "My model, yonder," said Drene, a slight shrug of contempt, "happens to be feminine, and may also be human. Be decent enough to defer the development of your rather tiresome theory."
I am here to-night to pay the reckoning." "You can't pay it." "No, not the whole score. There's another bill, I suppose, waiting for me somewhere. But I can settle my indebtedness to you " "How?" "That's up to you, Drene." "How?" repeated Drene, violently. Graylock made a slight gesture with his head toward Drene's sagging pocket: "That way if you like.
It was her figure that fascinated sculptors. "Are you ready?" grunted Drene. Work presently recommenced. She was entirely accustomed to praise from men, for her general attractiveness, for various separate features in what really was an unusually lovely ensemble.
Therefore, let her alone, or I'll throw you out of doors." Quair said to Guilder after they had departed: "Fancy old Drene playing about with that girl on a strictly pious basis! He's doubtless dub enough to waste his time. But what's in it for her?" "Perhaps a little unaccustomed masculine decency." "Everybody is decent enough to her as far as I know." "Including yourself?"
Drene, I am not wholly uneducated, although your amiable question insinuates as much." "I'm not unamiable. Only I didn't suppose " "Oh, you never have supposed anything concerning me. So why are you surprised when I express myself with fragmentary intelligence?" "I'm sorry " "Listen to me. I'm not afraid of you any more. I've been afraid for two years. Now, I'm not. Your study is masterly.
When the Make-up Club gave its annual play depicting the foibles of artists and writers in the public eye, Cecile White was always cast for a role which included singing and dancing. On and off for the last year or two she had posed for Drene, had dropped into his studio to lounge about when he had no need of her professionally, and when she had half an hour of idleness confronting her.
Guilder said, in his even, moderate voice: "Your logic is weird, Drene: in one breath you say you have changed your opinion; in another that you are content; in another that contentment is the fixedness of imbecility " Drene, reddening slightly, half rose on one elbow from his couch: "What I meant was that I change in my convictions from day to day, without reproaching myself with inconstancy.
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