Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. He passed, and came loitering back and stood beside her, silently looking into her face. “I never saw Courtlaw with her—never heard her speak of him. Go and prepare for our departure. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. She saw, twenty yards down the platform, the shiny hat and broad back and inimitable swagger of Ramage. "What should I do here alone if I were an enemy? But, come, don't let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably. Every time he left a room, she chastised herself bitterly for her own profound weakness. Faintly bothered by what it might mean, Gerald rose from his seat and crossed to the tray to pour himself a glass of wine. To have the present lengthen into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far lonelier than she had ever been. .
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