Why the impudence of a model should have irritated him he was at aloss to comprehend--unless there lurked under that impudence a traceof unflattering truth.

As he sat looking at her, all at once, and in an unexpected flash ofselfillumination, he realized that habit had made of him an actor;that for a while--a long while--a space of time he could not at themoment conveniently compute--he had been playing a role merelybecause he had become accustomed to it.

Disaster had cast him for a part. For a long while he had been thatpart. Now he was still playing it from sheer force of habit. Histragedy had really become only the shadow of a memory. Already hehad emerged from that shadow into the everyday outer world. But hehad forgotten that he still wore a somber makeup and costume whichin the sunshine might appear grotesque. No wonder the world thoughthim funny.