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I want to enrich it with hangings and gladden it with verses. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. "You have lived over here?"—astonished. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. "Winifred Wood will never marry, unless the grave can give up its dead. ’ She bit her lip and thought deeply. ’ If you engage me it must be upon my own merits. Earles would permit.
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