But I'll never part with your irons. “No. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. Just beyond there would be her heart's desire. “My chief,” he said, “took it into his head to have an impromptu dinner party. They had cried a little, both. E.
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