. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Ramage, regarding it and putting a well-booted foot up on the bottom rail. “No Christmas dinner,” she said, “or anything nice! One doesn’t even know what you are doing. The girl was like some north-country woodland pool, penetrated by a single shaft of sunlight—beautifully clear in one spot and mysteriously obscured elsewhere. ” “How? Show me. ’ ‘Gone off?’ repeated Melusine, her wrongs rising up to tear into her chest. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. ” Her breath left her for a moment. And as he walked by her side they began a wrangle that was none the less pleasant to Ann Veronica because it served to banish a disagreeable preoccupation.
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