Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. ” “You forget,” she said, looking up at him with a faint smile, “that under the cloak of her name I am earning more money a week than I could ever have earned in a year by my own labours. It is the worst of talk under such social circumstances that it is always getting cut off so soon as it is beginning; and I went home that afternoon feeling I had said nothing—literally nothing—of the things I had meant to say to you and that were coursing through my head. Kneebone began to dispense the fragrant fluid; begging Mrs. Imagine any one on this side refusing fifty bucks! Well, I'll be toddling along. ” “I thought I was old enough,” she gasped, between laughter and crying. “It was my sister Anna.
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