“Oh, it might be a chart of the county or a section of a map, or almost anything. It might be something like this.” He picked up a clean canvas from the pile on the ground and began to draw swiftly with a stump of charcoal. “This might be the main road,” he said, “and these the branch roads and these the houses.” He rubbed his drawing in two or three places and then turned the canvas so Elizabeth could see.
“Why, it looks just like a bunch of pussywillows,” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Does it? How funny. Can’t you see the main road, and the little roads? Those round spots are the houses.” He looked down with a smile, and Elizabeth understood that he had really meant it to be a branch of pussywillows, the buds being the houses.
She gave him an answering smile. “But the other is a truly picture,” she said; “this is an enigmatrical one.”
“Lovely,” cried the young man, laughing. “I like that word ‘enigmatrical,’ and I shall take it into my vocabulary.” He looked down at Elizabeth again with a broad smile. “By the way,” he said, “did you ever hear of Titian?”
Elizabeth was doubtful. The name sounded familiar and yet she thought best not to display any knowledge lest she might make a mistake. “I think I have heard of him,” she said. “Who is he?”
“A painter.”
“Oh, are you he?” She thought he might very well be and that this was his way of informing her.
“Ye gods and little fishes!” cried the young man. “Listen to her. Do I look as if I were over three hundred years old?” he asked.
“Oh,”—Elizabeth was quite abashed. “I didn’t remember that he was so old.”