“I hope to,” answered the artist.  “There are—­there are reasons why I do not care to work, for the present, in the East.  I confess it was because I understood that Fairlands offered exceptional opportunities for a portrait painter that I came here.  To succeed in my work, you know, one must come in touch with people of influence.  It is sometimes easier to interest them when they are away from their homes—­in some place like this—­where their social duties and business cares are not so pressing.”

“There is no question of the material that Fairlands has to offer, Mr. King,” returned the novelist, in his grim, sarcastic humor.  “God! how I envy you!” he added, with a flash of earnest passion.  “You are young—­You are beginning your life work—­You are looking forward to success—­You—­”

“I must succeed”—­the painter interrupted impetuously—­“I must.”

“Succeed in what?  What do you mean by success?”

“Surely, you should understand what I mean by success,” the younger man retorted.  “You who have gained—­”

“Oh, yes; I forgot”—­came the quick interruption—­“I am the famous Conrad Lagrange.  Of course, you, too, must succeed.  You must become the famous Aaron King.  But perhaps you will tell me why you must, as you call it, succeed?”

The artist hesitated before answering; then said with anxious earnestness, “I don’t think I can explain Mr. Lagrange.  My mother—­” he paused.

The older man stopped short, and, turning, stood for a little with his face towards the mountains where San Bernardino’s pyramid-like peak was thrust among the stars.  When he spoke, every bit of that bitter humor was gone from his deep voice.  “I beg your pardon, Mr. King”—­he said slowly—­“I am as ugly and misshapen in spirit as in body.”

But when they had walked some way—­again in silence—­and were drawing near the hotel, the momentary change in his mood passed.  In a tone of stinging sarcasm he said.  “You are on the right road, Mr. King.  You did well to come to Fairlands.  It is quite evident that you have mastered the modern technic of your art.  To acquire fame, you have only to paint pictures of fast women who have no morals at all—­making them appear as innocent maidens, because they have the price to pay, and, in the eyes of the world, are of social importance.  Put upon your canvases what the world will call portraits of distinguished citizens—­making low-browed money—­thugs to look like noble patriots, and bloody butchers of humanity like benevolent saints.  You need give yourself no uneasiness about your success.  It is easy.  Get in with the right people; use your family name and your distinguished ancestors; pull a few judicious advertising wires; do a few artistic stunts; get yourself into the papers long and often, no matter how; make yourself a fad; become a pet of the social autocrats—­and your fame is assured.  And—­you will be what I am.”