Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. He looked up to see an ancient coach making its ponderous way down the street. “John?” He turned around in the recliner. Wood's astonishment and displeasure momentarily increased. She was not altogether surprised when she found a deer, gutted of its entrails and strung with a garland of flowers, on the cave’s doorstep one humid summer morning. The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them. None of the things they said and did were altogether new to Ann Veronica, but now she got them massed and alive, instead of by glimpses or in books—alive and articulate and insistent. She was a small blonde, not handsome, but with a flair for fashion demonstrated by her elegant chemise gown in the very latest Canterbury muslin, with its low décolletage barely concealed under a fine lawn handkerchief set about her shoulders, and decorated with a mauve satin sash at the waist. I need a white man, if only to talk to; and it will be a god send to talk to someone of your intelligence. I can now give myself to God utterly; no human emotion will ever be shuttling in between. ‘Well then, Melusine,’ he said calmly, ‘it seems as if we must get you your dowry willy-nilly. His example was followed by Darrell.
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