"It provoked a wide and bitter discussion. . . . These Pagans are young artists, musicians, and writers, heartsick of a surrounding deadwall of purely Boston conventionality and Philistinism.' — Brooklyn Times.
red to stab him with some sort of a devilish dagger arrangement she carries about like an opera heroine."
"Featherstone is always a strong temptation to an honest man's boot," growled Herman out of his beard, as he sat with his head sunk upon his breast, staring into the fire.
"They had a scene that wouldn't have done discredit to a first-class opera-bouffe company," Bently went on, laughing at the remembrance.
"Nick was fool enough to hollo to somebody in the next room, and the result was that we all came trooping in like a chorus. It was absurd enough."
And he laughed afresh.
"But the girl?" persisted Grant Herman, not removing his gaze from the fire. "How did she take it?"
"Oh, she was as calm and cold as you please. She gathered herself together and went off without any fuss."
"I wish when you are done with her, you'd send her round to me," Herman rejoined. "I want a model for a figure, and if I remember her, she'll do capitally."
He rose as he spoke, with the air of a man who inte