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Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. “You poor child!” he said; “don’t you see the infinite folly of these proceedings? Think! Think of the love and affection you abandon! Think of your aunt, a second mother to you. ‘I know,’ said Prudence Sindlesham, sympathy in her tone. "I swear it," rejoined Jonathan, readily. No; she'd never go back. I hope that you did not permit her to feed?” “But I did! I did!” She sobbed. " "Don't stir, or they'll chain you to the wall," said his mother detaining him. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things.
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