Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. “Act three. He seemed to possess infinite reserves of patience when she refused him or purposely tried to bait and anger him, but his patience only made him seem more sinister. My reception at West Kensington you know of. “Why would she do that? Why does she care? That’s a waste of her time. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal.
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