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"Have you answered it?"
"No"
"Let ain, no"
"Then play the I late; what time do you have to be home?"
"Time doesn't concern me Your question seems a little rude Play the
I of yourself What are you doing?"
"Painting!" laughed Edna "I a an artist Think of it!"
"Ah! an artist! You have pretensions, Madame"
"Why pretensions? Do you think I could not becoh to say I do not know your talent or
your temperaifts--absolute gifts--which have not been acquired by one's own effort
And, eous soul"
"What do you eous, ma foi! The brave soul The soul that dares and defies"
"Show me the letter and play for me the Impromptu You see that I have
persistence Does that quality count for anything in art?"
"It counts with a foolish old woman wholing laugh
The letter was right there at hand in the drawer of the little table
upon which Edna had just placed her coffee cup Mademoiselle opened
the drawer and drew forth the letter, the topmost one She placed it in
Edna's hands, and without further comment arose and went to the piano