Like a petulant child he snapped. “You call yourself an artist— but you have no temperament. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. before them soldiers. ‘Now what?’ The girl’s voice was shaking, and there were, he saw now, angry tears in her eyes. And by degrees, perhaps, that maiden distrust of yours that makes you shrink from my kisses, will vanish. On a small shelf near the foot of the bed stood a couple of empty phials, a cracked ewer and basin, a brown jug without a handle, a small tin coffee-pot without a spout, a saucer of rouge, a fragment of looking-glass, and a flask, labelled "Rosa Solis. How can you say such things? You’re too young to be married, and realize this: you’re not ready.
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