And evening always found him physically tired and mentally
satisfied--or perturbed--to the exclusion of such minor interests as
life is made of--dress, amusement, food, women. Between a man and a
beloved profession in full shock of embrace there is no real room
for these or thought of these.

He ate irregularly and worked with the lack of wisdom characteristic
of creative ability, and he grew thinner and grayer at the temples,
and grayer of flesh, too, so that within a month, between the torrid
New York summer and his own unwisdom, he became again the gaunt,
silent, darkly absorbed recluse, never even stirring abroad for air
until some half-deadened pang of hunger, or the heavy warning of a
headache, set him in reluctant motion.

He heard of Cecile now and then; Cosby had used her for a figure on
a fountain destined to embellish the estate of a wealthy young man
somewhere or other; Greer employed her for the central figure of
Innocence in his lovely and springlike decoration for some Western
public edifice. Quair had met her several times at Manhattan Beach
with various and assorted wealthy young men.

And one evening Guilder came alone to his studio and found him lying
on the lounge, his lank, muscular hands, still clay-stained, hanging
inert to the floor above an evening paper fallen there.

"Hello, Guilder," he said, without rising, as the big architect
shambled loosely through the open doorway.