\" She replied to him, looking into his blue eyes. ” Lucy snickered. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. ’ Gerald grinned. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. The sun was rising, illuminating the trees in black as if they were drawn in ink. I see that compromise is more necessary to life than I ignorantly supposed it to be, and I have been trying to get Lord Morley’s book on that subject, but it does not appear to be available in the prison library, and the chaplain seems to regard him as an undesirable writer.
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