Then she would make excuses for him. Of a truth, he had had a little vogue—stood well with his fellows——
But he wrecked his own cause.
In a passing mood of conceit he had strutted it in the mock-modest manner, tapping his own chest, half ashamed to drag in so modest a fellow. But look at him—even him! and the like; and forthwith averred that he “knocked off” more in an hour sometimes than she in a month—the “knocking off” inferring fertility and facility of genius. The which, whatever it lacked in the courtesies, held at least some virtue of truth.
But Truth may walk abroad too naked.
Ah, Betty—and if thou, looking out of thy window, couldst but see with thy clear eyes across the lamp-lit city this Noll of thine!
CHAPTER LXIII
Wherein the Ceiling of the Tavern that is called The Scarlet Jackass is stained with Blood
Noll was at a gathering of little men—at a students’ tavern on the heights of Montmartre. The praises of the mediocrities flushed him. His eyes were bright; he had glittered.