“That is only for your equals, my child;” she returned patronizingly.
I flushed but made no answer.
“Whose crayon drawing?” asked Miss Maynard, making a tour of inspection through the room.
“My sister Fanny’s.”
“O—the one with that lovely golden hair—is it not? Miss Lucy Churchill raves about her. Why she has quite a talent. Does she think of studying?”
“Not at present;” I replied.
“She is very young;” said Mrs. Maynard.
“If I were not going away I should be pleased to give her some lessons. I think one ought to foster talent when one is in a position to do it.”
“Thank you;” I returned with a little pride. “Miss Churchill intends to give her lessons.”
“Indeed! Well, I have some friends connected with the School of Design in New York. I might do something for her there.”