Oh, isn 't life the fiercest
proposition!... We seem different, you and I, but maybe it's
mostly surface--down deep we're alike in being desperately
unhappy because we never know what we're unhappy about. Well--"
He wanted to put his head down on her knees and rest there. But
he sat still, and presently their cold hands snuggled together.
After a silence, in which they were talking of themselves, he
burst out: "But I don't see how Paris could help 'preciating
you. I'll bet you're one of the best artists they ever saw....
The way you made up a picture in your mind about that juggler!"
"Nope. Sorry. Can't paint at all."
"Ah, stuff!" with a rudeness quite masterful. "I'll bet your
pictures are corkers."
"Um."
"Please, would you let me see some of them some time. I suppose
it would bother--"
"Come up-stairs. I feel inspired. You are about to hear some
great though nasty criticisms on the works of the unfortunate
Miss Nash."
She led the way, laughing to herself over something. She gave
him no time to blush and hesitate over the impropriety of
entering a lady's room at midnight, but stalked ahead with a
brief "Come in.
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