"But I should think book knowledge would help art, not hinder it."
"Yes, it does."
"Then do use this library as you like. No one comes here now."
Mrs. Gordon's low even voice never faltered, but Jean's thoughts at once flew to the master of the house, who had once used this room. She looked up gratefully.
"Thank you so much. It will indeed be a treat to me."
And after that, she divided her leisure time between the library and the pine-woods.
But the time she loved best was when she was painting Sunnie. She did this now in the afternoons before the light entirely failed, and when the firelight was at its best. Occasionally Dr. Fergusson would come up and go to the piano, and then it was that Sunnie's face became rapt and absorbed in the music. Jean painted away then as hard as she could at her face alone, leaving all else for a less auspicious time. The child's quaint fancies, and the doctor's humorous fun, helped rather than hindered her in her work. Sometimes the doctor would criticise the portrait, and Jean learnt to value his criticism, for it was always just and true.
"That Sunnie!" he exclaimed one day. "Now, Miss Desmond, we will have you up for libel! The only thing the sun has touched in your picture is her hair; you must make it peep out of the corners of her eyes, be lurking in the corners of her lips, her very nose must be quivering with it. If her face belies her name, how can she take her place amongst the family portraits! Get your brushes full of sunshine, and lay it on thick."
"Between sunshine and firelight I feel rather mixed," said Jean, ruefully.
"I don't think your eye has been properly educated," Dr. Fergusson went on. "There are two sorts of sunshine—that which shines on the surface and penetrates inwards, and that which dwells within and radiates outwards. I consider that Sunnie has within her a battery—shall I call it?—fully charged with sufficient sunshine to warm herself and others."