He had not changed, she thought, as he drew a wicker chair out for her from its position by the Van Dyck portrait. He had the same voice, the same light brown hair, though the lock over the forehead was gone. Anne suppressed a desire to tell him that he had grown, remembering that he was six feet two when she saw him last. She wondered vaguely at her own surprise in finding him so robust.
"When did you return from Europe?" she asked stiffly, then repented having spoken. That seemed like alluding to their last meeting.
"A year and a half ago. I studied in Paris first, then went to London for inspiration."
"London!"
"People do not usually go to London for art. But French art is dead, except for the Symbolists."
This sweeping assertiveness seemed very familiar.
"I got hold of some good ideas among
