A wish to know if Valentine had kept a paper cutter she had given him--lapis lazuli, the color of his eyes--made her get up and go to the desk. Yes, it was there, but something else was there, too: an unframed photograph propped against a paper weight--the photograph of a woman. She bent cautiously to look at it, as one bends to examine the spot where the trembling of the grass suggests the presence of a venomous serpent. It was the picture of a slender woman with heavy dark hair and long slanting eyes, the cruelty of her high cheek bones softened by the sweet drooping curve of her mouth. A terrible and fascinating woman. Then as the light struck across the surface of the picture she saw it was a glossy print for reproduction. It might mean business--a feature for the syndicate--not love. She was sitting far away from the desk when, a minute or two later, Valentine entered--Valentine a little thinner than before, but no less vital. He greeted her as if they had parted yesterday, or rather he did not greet her at all. He simply began to talk to her as he came into the room. He had a roll of blue prints in his hand. "Now, my dear girl, these plans of yours--have you thought them over at all?... You practically made them? But don't you see what you've done--sacrificed everything to a patio. A patio--only good for hot weather, when you'll never be here anyhow. The whole comfort of the house arranged for the season you'll be away. They are without exception the most ridiculous plans-- Oh! Yes, I sent down for a copy of them at once. I'm glad I did. If I hadn't--" "But, Valentine," she interrupted--she knew by experience that you were forced to interrupt Valentine if you wished to speak at all--"it is my house, you know." "And that's why I want it to be right for you," he answered. "But we'll get it right--never fear." "It's exactly what I want as it is," she returned, and she heard with a mixture of disgust and fear that the old tone of false determination was creeping into her voice. "It isn't at all what you want," he said. "You only imagine it is, Cora." "Valentine, I've thought it all out with the greatest care." "But it's absurd--you won't like it. Do listen to reason. Don't be obstinate." Obstinate--the old accusation. "That's what you always say when I insist on doing anything my own way." "But your way is wrong. Now just listen to me, my dear girl--"