Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “You see, her sister is married to Ferringhall, isn’t she? and she herself must be drawing no end of a good screw here. This lover of yours—” “He doesn’t know!” cried Ann Veronica. It appeared from what he said that he had been captured when asleep,—that his liquor had been drugged,—otherwise, he would never have allowed himself to be taken alive. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. “Let us walk across the Park at least,” he said to Ann Veronica. She said you HAD some money. I was helpless.
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