But he had always felt (he had never allowed himself to think of it) that the promptitude of their family was a little indelicate of her, and in a sense an intrusion. The clerk at the Raffles Hotel had accorded her but scant interest. It wouldn't do to say that she was from the hospital. Her safety lay in pretense—that what she saw was as a tale twice told. All characters and events in this publication, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. To have written a short story in a week was rather a remarkable feat. Their journey had made them indolent, the afternoon was warm, and it seemed impossible to breathe a sweeter air. Later, when they returned home, she would serve as the topic of many conversations. To fall upon those tales for the first time, when the mind was fresh and the heart was young! He became aware of an odd phase to this conversation. . “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament.
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