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A moment later a voice was heard from the anteroom, saying: "If any one telephones, I'm not in the club any one at all. Do you hear?" Then Towsey, the decorator, appeared at the letterboxes in spats, militant checks, high collar and a choker tie, which, yearning toward his ears, gave him the appearance of one who had floundered up out of his clothes for the third and last time.

"Thank you, I said that about the year 1907," said Quinny, while Steingall gasped and nudged Towsey. "That is the tragedy of life, not the tragedy of art, two very different things. An artist has need of ten, fifteen, twenty women, according to the multiplicity of his ideas. He should be always violently in love or violently reacting." "And the wife?" said De Gollyer. "Has she any influence?"

Talked familiarly with kings and queens Half-witted girl who giggled all the time It gnawed me terribly A Scotch terrier named Towsey A sentiment of diplomatic etiquette London as a physical entity Ladies in low-necked dresses An elderly man like a garden-spider Into the bowels of the earth The inner luminousness of genius Isolated and tragic situation "Ate ever man such a morsel before!"

The four artists, who had listened to Herkimer's story in that gradual thickening depression which the subject of matrimony always let down over them, suddenly brightened visibly. On their faces appeared the look of inward speculation, and then a ray of light. Little Towsey, who from his arrival had sulked, fretted, and fumed, jumped up energetically and flung away his third cigar.