Spurlock has gone. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. The conditions are such as I think you will recognize the justice of. There indeed you see Monte Rosa. ‘Do that again,’ he said softly, ‘and I’ll make you sorry you ever came to England. Blue haze had settled beyond the black silhouettes of trees, graduating to the deep violet that began the night sky. It was not a cambric curtain Ruth had drawn across that part of her life: it was of iron. "I did all for the best, as I'll explain. Love—admiration for your matchless beauty alone sways me. Some doting parent had taught him well.
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