His eyes never left her face. "No, I don't. What a fool I was to separate the two in my mind. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. 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. She had denied it with vigor, and here she was! She did not so much exhaust this general question as pass from it to her insoluble individual problem again: “What am I to do?” She wanted first of all to fling the forty pounds back into Ramage’s face. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. ' So I go to Patagonia. Wood had prevented him from paying much attention to the previous scene.
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