He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. He perceived, however, that both the novels he read and the world he lived in discountenanced these assumptions. Neither of them joined in the applause which followed upon her exit. “Did she? I’m sorry, Mike. She had been built for canvas and oil-lamps, and this new thingumajig that kept her nose snoring at eight knots when normally she was able to boil along at ten, and these unblinking things they called lamps (that neither smoked nor smelled), irked and threatened to ruin her temper. He had not remembered her as looking so small. She put down the sketch-books and apparatus she had brought with her, pulled out her stool, and sat down. I do not say guest because that suggests friendship; and I am no friend of this Wastrel.
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