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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. Jack instantly sprang to his feet, and as his guards construed the motion into an attempt to escape, several of them drew their swords and motioned to him to sit down. “I heard your voices, and the hall is draughty. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. “I will tell you the truth. May I ask the nature of your interest in her?” He hesitated. The delay was only momentary. But, uttering a loud cry, he was swept away by the headlong torrent. You desire to know who he was, Sir Rowland. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. That is my way, my dear.
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