“What a fool I am!” he muttered, standing up on the hearthrug, and leaning his elbows upon the broad mantelpiece. It hit her just above the knee. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, her two much older sisters had married off—one submissively, one insubordinately; her two brothers had gone out into the world well ahead of her, and so she had made what she could of her father. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Please don’t let any one know that. I don’t suppose a girl can tell if a man is in love with her or not in love with her.
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