VIII.
THE INLY TOUCH OF LOVE.
Two Gentlemen of Verona; ii.—7.
After the Pagans had separated that night Fred Rangely lingered in
Herman's studio.
The sculptor somehow found it possible to be more frank with Rangely than with any other of his companions, and although there was a difference of some half a dozen in the count of their years, and perhaps more in their ages as measured by experiences, Herman's strong but naturally stormy nature found much pleasure in the calm philosophy of his friend.
Scarcely were the two men alone, when Rangely turned to his host and demanded abruptly:
"Now, I want to know, Grant, what in the devil is the matter with you to-night? What set you out to pitch into Fenton so?"
Herman poured out a glass of wine and swallowed it before replying.
"Because I am a damned idiot!" he retorted savagely. "I'm all shaken up, Fred; and the worst of it is that I don't see any way out of the snare I'm in."
"It isn't real trouble, I hope."
"Isn't it! By Jove!" cried the sculptor, "the more honest a man is in this world the worse off he is. If I hadn't had a conscience when I was a young fellow, I should be all right now. Who is it—Fenton?—that is always saying that he asks forgiveness for his virtues and thanks the gods for every vice he can cultivate?"