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“It’s a new phase in the life history,” he remarked. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Even that he was an interfering person, if he walked through that door this moment, she would fling herself at him and weep all over his chest. She sat herself upon the bed. She had pushed aside her azure veil, taken off her snow-glasses, and sat smiling under her hand at the shining glories—the lit cornices, the blue shadows, the softly rounded, enormous snow masses, the deep places full of quivering luminosity—of the Taschhorn and Dom. “Too late, my dear girl,” she exclaimed. Never. . Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. Wood was heard without, angrily demanding admittance. ‘And I trust you will pardon my inadequacies. Ann Veronica stared at his foolish, propitiatory smile, his hungry gaze, through one moment of amazement, then stepped aside and went on her way with a quickened step. Gosse took a step or two towards the centre of the room. Anna merely glanced at the coarse, flushed features, and at once shook her head.
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