"That is still your story, Miss Blake?" "Objection!" "Sustained." Except for silence, his graceful body stooped slightly forward as though setting itself for a predatory leap, Hunter gave no sign of noticing the interruption. "Do you wish to take an exception, Mr. Hunter?" "No, your Honor. Miss Blake, in your direct testimony I recall that you chose to qualify one of the remarks made by your friend Edith Nolan, a remark concerning your artistic ability. I believe you said she overrated you. Does that mean that in your estimation, your own estimation, you are really not much of an artist?" "No, that isn't what I said." "Then you do consider yourself an artist?" "Yes, but with less ability than Miss Nolan gives me credit for." "I see. In how many lines, Miss Blake?" "Drawing and painting. Nothing else worth mentioning." "Not in fiction?" "Objection! The question is wholly improper." "Sustained." "Exception. I was using the word in the purely literary sense--literature, fiction-writing, is surely one of the arts." "Mr. Hunter, since the question of Miss Blake's literary ability has never been introduced at any time in this trial until you mentioned it just now, the Court does not find your explanation altogether acceptable. You may have your exception of course. As you continue, you will avoid sarcasm and innuendo. Miss Blake is entitled to the same respect as any other witness." "I regret it very much, your Honor, if anything I said had the sound of sarcasm. It was not so intended. Miss Blake, as an artist, in your own estimation, do you share the attitude which I understand is fairly common in some quarters, that an artist is--well, a sort of privileged character? Not to be judged by the standards we apply to ordinary mortals?" "I do not, and I never knew any artist who held that attitude." "Have you met a great many of them?" "No. A few." "But never met one who felt that he was, let's say, a special sort of being? Someone apart?" "Special perhaps, or apart, but not specially privileged." "Not even the beatniks?" "I don't know anything about the beatniks." A swift small worm of pain ran down Cecil Warner's left arm, puzzling him. He said with care for the sound of his voice: "Is all this leading anywhere? Does it have any possible relevancy?" "If the Court please," said T. J. Hunter melodiously, "there has been a great deal said about Miss Blake's state of mind at various times. I have not objected to it. This is in many ways an uncommon case. I am inclined to agree with a remark made by my very honored adversary a little while ago in his opening, when he pointed out how much depends on whether we can or cannot believe Miss Blake's word. He is naturally convinced that she is telling the truth. I am not. She is now on the stand, having affirmed that she will speak truthfully. It is my necessary task to test her credibility in any proper manner that is open to me, and my present line of inquiry is directed to that end."