Without a word or a gesture, the Wastrel turned and staggered forth, out of the orbit of these two, having been thrust into it for a single purpose already described. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. It is enough to make a man throw away canvas and brushes into the bottomless precipices, enough to make one weep with despair at his utter and absolute impotence. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. “Actually, I am, it is terribly stupid.
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