"They are a funny pair," commented Anita. "How is the sketch coming on, Harry?"
"Pretty well. I'd like a little more sunlight, but the sun do move. What are those two doing with his nibs?"
"It isn't Haddie, you know. They never try to teach him anything. I suppose he would resent it if they attempted it. Tommy is the pupil."
"Oh, of course. I'll not keep you much longer, señorita."
Anita smiled. "You'd better not let Aunt Manning hear you address me in that way. She is trying to forget that any of my ancestors ever saw Spain, and gives me long accounts of my English forbears, expatiates on the glories of their performances and tries to waken in me a wild enthusiasm for England."
"But you do like it."
"Of course. I love it, but I like Spain, too."
"I don't blame you. I am going there to paint, to copy Velasquez. You must tell me some nice out-of-the-way places to go, picturesque spots that painter men don't usually visit."
"I can tell you plenty of such," Anita began, but just then came the click of the gate, a step was heard hastily approaching and Mr. Kirkby, his ruddy countenance more than usually highly colored and an excited look in his eye, called out. "Where are you all? It has come! Here is the paper. War! War has come!"
Tibbie who had come out with the tea things stood staring. "Beant so," she said defiantly, as she looked to Mrs. Manning for support of her remark.