He paused.
"I think your ambition is great," said the lady, looking at him with a smile, "but I have always heard that artists' souls soar beyond their brushes."
Ruffie would have this explained to him.
Then he said:
"I dream of pictures in the night. And then I put down the names in the morning. Did you ever play leapfrog with Dad when he was a little boy?"
"I don't remember."
"Did you go to his house, and he come to yours?"
"No," said the lady, a grim look coming over her face. "We won't talk about those times any more. Do Josie and Georgie want to paint pictures like you?"
"Oh, no, indeed." Ruffie laughed merrily. "Georgie is going to write books when she grows up. She says she'll have read all there is to read by that time, and she'll want some more, so she'll make them herself. And Josie is going to play to the King and Queen at Buckingham Palace, and have nosegays of flowers flung at her for doing it."
Conversation did not languish between the two.