"Thanks! I think I'll sit down," he added, as Stratton handed him a tumbler half-filled with wine and a water-bottle. He filled the tumbler from the bottle, put them on the table, took cigarettes in a case from his pocket and lighted one at a gas jet behind him.
"Do you take water with your wine?" asked Stratton of Ned.
"I don't take wine at all, thank you," said Ned.
"What!" exclaimed Connie, sitting up. "You don't smoke and you don't drink wine. Why, you are a regular Arab. But you must have something. Arty! Rouse up and light the little stove again! You'll have some tea, Ned. Oh! It's no trouble. Arty will make it for me and it will do him good. What do you think of this oration of Geisner's?"
"I suppose it's all right," said Ned. "But I can't see what good it does myself."
"How's that?"
"Well, it's no use saying one thing and meaning another. This talk of 'art' seems to me selfish while the world to most people is a hell that it's pain to live in. I am sorry if I say what you don't like."
"Never mind that," said Connie, as cheerfully as ever. "You've been worrying, too. Have it out, so that we can all jump on you at once! I warn you, you won't have an ally."
"I suppose not," answered Ned, hotly. "You are all very kind and mean well, but do you know how people live, how they exist, what life outside is?"
Geisner had sat down in a low chair near by, his cigarette between his lips, his glass of wine and water on a shelf at his elbow. The others looked on in amazement at the sudden turn of the conversation. Connie smiled and nodded. Ned stared fiercely round at Geisner, who nodded also.