e him lie down and
pretend to be asleep at the feet of the artist's beautiful wife. They
had made slipping knots in the cords, so that he could easily wrench
them loose. Then the curtain had been drawn aside, and there had been a
pause as the tableau was shown. All at once a mob of artists, draped
hastily in anything they could lay their hands upon, and with all manner
of helmets on their heads from the Spaniard's collection, had rushed in.

"The Philistines are upon thee!" cried Delilah in a piercing voice.

He sprang to his feet, his legs being free, and he struggled with the
cords. The knots would not slip as they were meant to do. The situation
lasted several seconds, and was ridiculous enough.

People began to laugh.

"Cut off his hair!" cried one.

"Of what use was the wig?" laughed another, and every one tittered.

Griggs could hear Gloria's clear, high laugh above the rest. His blood
slowly rose in his throat. But no one pulled the curtain across. The
Philistines, young artists, mad with Carnival, improvised a very
eccentric dance of triumph, and the laughter increased.

Griggs looked at the cords. Then his mask-like face turned slowly to the
audience. Only the great veins swelled suddenly at his temples, while
every one watched him in the general amusement. Suddenly his eyes
flashed, and he drew a deep breath, for he was angry. In an instant
there was dead silence in the room. A moment later one of the cords,
drawn tight round his chest, over the silk robe, snapped like a thread,
then another, and then a third. Then in a sort of frenzy of anger he
savagely broke the whole cord into pieces with his hands, tossing the
bits contemptuously upon the floor. His face was as white as a dead
man's.

A roar of applause broke the silence when the guests realized what he
had done. The artists seized him and carried him high in procession
round the room, the women threw flowers at him, and some one struck up a
triumphal march on the piano. It was an ovation. Half an hour later,
dressed again in his ordinary clothes, he found himself next to Gloria.

"You told me the other day that you were not Samson," she said. "You see
you can be when you choose."

"No," answered Griggs, coldly; "I am a clown."

What she had said was natural enough, but somehow the satisfaction of
his bodily vanity had stung his moral pride beyond endurance. It seemed
a despicable thing to be as vain as he was of a gift for which he had
not p