“You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. I mean to have you! Don’t frown me off now. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. It may be well, therefore, before proceeding farther, to describe it more minutely. She was not quite clear how she should find it, but she felt she would. Come close to me, and let me hold your hand, dear. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging.
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