"So it appears," replied Marvel. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. And the woollen-draper departed. ‘How so?’ he asked, and she noted that he allowed his pistol to dangle a little from his fingers. With his foodle doo! This carpenter he had a wife, The plague and torment of his life, Who, though she did her husband scold, Loved well a woollen-draper bold. One or two landladies refused her with an air of conscious virtue that she found hard to explain. Life! Life and love! It makes me want to be always young, always strong, always devoting my life—and dying splendidly.
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