” “And why shouldn’t you?” “I felt that sort of thing couldn’t go on. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. . Charity for the ragtag and the bobtail of the Seven Seas, and none for his own flesh and blood. Instead, they lived a Bohemian existence, moving from patron to patron, city to city. " "Comfort yourself, then, Aliva. His face clouded with anger. But it was only when that damned scoundrel nearly spitted you in the chapel—’ He broke off and, to her intense satisfaction she saw he was not as much in command of himself as he would have her believe. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. His subjects, however, were no longer entirely under his control; and, though he managed to enforce some little attention to his commands, it was evident his authority was waning fast.
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