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Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Waving a white flag, naturally. Melusine’s heart jumped and she felt heat rising into her cheeks. "You won't refuse it, Mr. Think better of it. "Why? Because I love her! Because I loved her at the start, but was too big a fool to know it!" His own astonishment was quite equal to McClintock's. She found him reclined, watching television in a small guest room hidden in a back wing of the massive house. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
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