Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. "So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. ‘But, Gérard—’ ‘Don’t start arguing,’ he said in a tone that brooked no defiance. He embraced her, kissing her cheek, then her neck. It isn’t law, nor custom, nor masculine violence settled that. We were worried. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Part 3 She dressed carefully for dinner in a black dress that her father liked, and that made her look serious and responsible.
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