The Pagans | Page 2

great a superfluity of brains that in this intelligent age
of the world I am ever likely to make much by selling myself; and that
is the only way any body gets any money nowadays."
"I hardly think you'd be willing to sell," his companion answered, "no
matter how good the market."
"There's where you are wrong," he answered, looking up with a sudden
frown, "the worst thing about me is that with sufficient inducement--or
even merely from the temptation of an especially good opportunity--I
should sell myself body and soul to the Philistines."
"One would hardly fancy it, from the way you talk of Peter Calvin and
his followers."
"Oh, as to that," retorted the artist, "don't you see that judicious
opposition increases my market value when I am ready to sell? If I
could only be sufficiently prominent in my antagonism, I might
absolutely fix my own price."
The lady made no answer, but regarded him more intently than ever.
"That's a good thing," he broke out again, holding up a drawing. "Why
don't you do that in marble, or better still, in bronze?"
"I am putting it up in clay," she answered. "I thought I had shown it to
you. It is to be fired as my first experiment in a big piece of terra-cotta.
That is the first sketch; I think I have improved upon it."
It was the study for a bas-relief representing the months, twelve
characteristic figures running forward with the utmost speed. Gifts
dropped from their hands as they ran; from the fingers of June fell
flowers, from those of August and September ripened fruits, upon
which November and December trampled ruthlessly. January, in his
haste, overturned an altar against which February stumbles.
"It is melancholy enough," Fenton observed, regarding it closely. "How
melancholy every thing is now-a-days?"
"To a man about to be married?" she asked, with a fine smile.
"Oh, always to me. The fact that I am going to be married does not
prevent my still being myself."
"Unfortunately not," she returned, with a faint suspicion of sarcasm in

her tone. "You pique yourself upon being somber."
"I dare say," answered he, a trifle petulantly. "Pain has become a habit
with me; discontent is about the only luxury I can afford, heaven
knows!"
"Unless it is gorgeous cravats."
"Oh, that," Fenton said, putting his hand to the blue and gold tie at his
throat. "I'm trying to furbish up my old body and decrepit heart against
my nuptials, so I invested fifty cents in this tie."
"You couldn't have done it cheaper," remarked she; "though, perhaps,"
she added dryly, "it is all the rejuvenation is worth."
Fenton smiled grimly and again applied himself to the examination of
the drawings, while the other looked out at the rain.
"Boston has more climate, and that far worse," she remarked, "than any
other known locality."
"Does that mean that you are going to Herman's this afternoon?" asked
Fenton.
"I should have gone this morning if you had not insisted upon my
wasting my time simply because you had determined to waste yours."
Fenton laughed.
"You are frank to a guest," he said. "I wished to be congratulated on my
marriage."
"I shall not congratulate you," she answered. "You are spoiled. The
women have petted you too much."
"According to the old fairy tale all goes well with the man of whom the
women are fond."
"I remember," she said. "I always pitied their wives."
"I shall treat Edith well."
"You are too good-natured not to, I suppose; especially when you look
forward to your marriage with such rapture."
"But, Helen, have I ever pretended to believe in marriage? Marriage is
a crime! Think of the wretched folly of those who talk of the holiness
of love's being protected by the sanctities of marriage. If love is holy,
let it have way; if it is not, all the sacraments priests can devise cannot
sanctify it."
"Then why, Arthur, do you marry at all?"
"Because marriage is a necessary evil as society is at present
constituted."

"But," Helen said slowly, "you who pretend to have so little regard for
society--"
"Ah, there it is," he interrupted. "Man is gregarious by instinct; he must
do as his fellows do. He must submit to the most absurd convenances
of his fellowmen, as one sheep jumps where another did though the bar
be taken away. If he were strong enough to stand alone he might take
conventions by the throat and be a god!"
His outburst was too vehement and sudden not to come from some
underlying current of deep feeling, rather than from the present
conversation. He had risen while speaking, his head thrown back, his
eyes sparkling. His companion regarded him with admiration, not
unmixed, however, with amusement.