met the thrust without
the faintest hint of feeling.

"What you think," he said, in his weighty fashion, "has nothing to do
with me. What you do is all that matters. And I tell you straight"--a
blue flame suddenly leapt up like a volcanic light in the sombre
eyes--"that no man that hasn't honest intentions by her is going to make
love to Columbine."

"Great Jove!" mocked Knight, with his careless laugh. "And who told you,
most worthy swain, what my intentions were?"

Rufus leaned towards him slowly, with something of the action of a
crouching beast. "No one told me," he said in a voice that was deeply
menacing. "But--I know."

Knight made a gesture of supreme indifference. "You are on an entirely
wrong scent," he observed. "But you seem to be enjoying it." He paused
to take out a cigarette. "Have a smoke!" he suggested after a moment,
proffering his case.

Rufus did not so much as see it. His whole attitude was one of strain,
as if he barely held himself back from springing at the other's throat.

Knight, however, was elaborately unconscious of any tension. He smiled
and closed his cigarette case. Then with the utmost deliberation he
searched for his matches, found them, and lighted his cigarette.

Having puffed forth the first deep breath with luxurious enjoyment, he
spoke again. "It is a little difficult to get a man of your stamp to
comprehend the fact that an artist--a true artist--is not one to be
greatly drawn by the grosser things of life, more especially when he is
in ardent pursuit of that elusive flame called inspiration. But you
would hardly grasp a condition in which the body--and the impulses of
the body--are in complete subjection to the aspirations of the mind.
You"--he blew forth a cloud of smoke--"are probably incapable of
realizing that the worship of beauty can be of so purely artistic a
nature as to be practically free from the physical element, certainly
independent of it. I am taking you out of your depth, I know, but it is
hard to make myself clear to an untrained mind. I might try a homely
simile and suggest to you that you go a-fishing, not for love of the
fish, but because it is your profession; but that does not wholly
illustrate my meaning, for I love everything in the way of beauty that
comes my way. I follow beauty like a guiding star. And sometimes--but
seldom, oh, very seldom"--a sudden odd thrill sounded in his voice as if
by accident some hidden string had been struck and set vi