“Annabel,” she said brusquely. Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. It did seem germane to the matter that so many of the people “in the van” were plain people, or faded people, or tired-looking people. “Sir John!” Annabel gasped. Chapter IV THE TEMPERAMENT OF AN ARTIST “You may sit there and smoke, and look out upon your wonderful Paris,” Anna said lightly. Michelle tossed her hair like a young colt flicking its tail. “Do you want to ruin me? I shall walk back.
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