It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. There was already a score or more of people there, some standing up and talking together, others seated in chairs ranged along the wall. Darrell. They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. There was no keeping Sheila from the truth, and it was better that anyone who lived under her roof knew it. “How old are you?\" He looked at her engagingly. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Her hair and voice and figure are as yours used to be. Yet he stays.
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