It was strange too that Andree was as quiet as he: no storm-misery had gone deep with her also.
"Do you care to tell me about it ?" he asked.
She sat back in her chair, her hands over her eyes.

Presently, still sitting so, she spoke.
Ian Belward had painted them and their van in the hills of Auvergne, and had persuaded her to sit for a picture.

He had treated her courteously at first.

Her father was taken ill suddenly, and died.

She was alone for a few days afterwards.