Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Marry, come up! I'm not so easily deluded. Rhea writhed and scuttled about like a crab. Over the sea of heads arose a black and dismal object. Then she sat watching the play, sometimes offering a helpful suggestion, sometimes letting her attention wander to the smoothly shining arms she had folded across her knees just below the edge of the table. And now her mind was so full of the thought that she was in love—in love!—that marvellous state! that I really believe she had some dim idea of talking to him about it. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. " "That's reasonable.
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