Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. She was perfectly aware that the boy had gotten some sort of bug in his craw over her despite her sloppy, strange appearance. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. He accepted this confession conditionally: that no young man had kissed her. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. ” “Would you let me go on studying for a time?” “If you order patience. ‘I don’t want a hue and cry after me, I thank you.
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