“In Paris. I'm about to ring for supper. With all your cunning, we're more than a match for you. I rather want them. God gives us an equal chance; but we make ourselves. Wood could stand it no longer. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She is very bright. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet.
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