” He said wistfully. To get behind that impenetrable curtain, to learn why she hated her island. Neither the manners, the looks, nor the attire of these gentlemen prepossessed Mrs. She will cry for days and nights together. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. The lights rolled over, and were extinguished. Hollo rumbled in his throat. ’ ‘That is silly. She was trying to adjust the wimple, dragging at it and fighting with her loosened hair.
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