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tried the mixture.
Coffee and cognac followed with sufficient speed to pre-
vent any untoward consequence, and they settled down to
smoke in comfort. Ruth Chalice, who could do nothing that
was not deliberately artistic, arranged herself in a graceful
attitude by Cronshaw and just rested her exquisite head on
his shoulder. She looked into the dark abyss of time with
brooding eyes, and now and then with a long meditative
glance at Lawson she sighed deeply.
Then came the summer, and restlessness seized these
young people. The blue skies lured them to the sea, and the
pleasant breeze sighing through the leaves of the plane-trees
on the boulevard drew them towards the country. Every-
one made plans for leaving Paris; they discussed what was
the most suitable size for the canvases they meant to take;
they laid in stores of panels for sketching; they argued about
the merits of various places in Brittany. Flanagan and Pot-
ter went to Concarneau; Mrs. Otter and her mother, with a
natural instinct for the obvious, went to Pont-Aven; Philip
and Lawson made up their minds to go to the forest of Fon-
tainebleau, and Miss Chalice knew of a very good hotel at
Moret where there was lots of stuff to paint; it was near Paris,
and neither Philip nor Lawson was indifferent to the railway
fare. Ruth Chalice would be there, and Lawson had an idea
for a portrait of her in the open air. Just then the Salon was
full of portraits of people in gardens, in sunlight, with blink-
ing eyes and green reflections of sunlit leaves on their faces.
They asked Clutton to go with them, but he preferred spend-
ing the summer by himself. He had just discovered Cezanne,

Of Human Bondage