“Let us sit down for a moment,” he had said. Suddenly the Wastrel took hold of the edge and flung the table aside. It was just a shabby, stupid, furtive business that began between us. He told me with a coarse nervous laugh. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. Then she threw the volume away with a little impatient exclamation. A failure! She must write herself down a failure! At her age, with her ambitions, with her artistic temperament and creative instincts, she was yet to be denied all coherent means of expression. It was a motor accident—a fatal motor accident the evening papers called it.
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