please,--"Do you like it, dear?"

"It is magnificent, splendid, perfect!" This effort to give his praise of
the artist's work the appearance of substantial reality cost the wretched
product of lust and luxury a fit of coughing that racked his burnt-out
body almost to its last feeble hold upon the world of flesh and, with a
force that shamed the strength of his words, drove home the truth that
neither his praise nor his scorn could long endure. When he could again
speak, he said, in his husky, rasping whisper,--while grasping the
painter's hand in effusive cordiality,--"My dear fellow, I congratulate
you. It is exquisite. It will create a sensation, sir, when it is
exhibited. Your fame is assured. I must thank you for the honor you have
done me in thus immortalizing the beauty and character of Mrs. Taine." And
then, to his wife,--"Dearest, I am glad for you, and proud. It is as
worthy of you as paint and canvas could be." He turned to Conrad Lagrange
who was an interested observer of the scene--"Am I not right, Lagrange?"

"Quite right, Mr. Taine,--quite right. As you say, the portrait is most
worthy the beauty and character of the charming subject."

Another paroxysm of coughing mercifully prevented the poor creature's
reply.

With one accord, the little group turned, now, to James Rutlidge--the
dreaded authority and arbiter of artistic destinies. That distinguished
expert, while the others were speaking, had been listening intently;
ostensibly, the while, he examined the picture with a show of trained
skill that, it seemed, could not fail to detect unerringly those more
subtle values and defects that are popularly supposed to be hidden from
the common eye. Silently, in breathless awe, they watched the process by