"So I did."
Phil pulled toward him another block of paper and swiftly washed in the green of the lilac bush and its purple pendants. Before it, on a little stretch of green sward, grew the robin, high-chested, alert.
"How proud he looks!" said the child, delighted.
"Yes, he is saying: 'I own the earth, and the worms therein.'" The artist laughed to himself. "'If a worm shows his head, I gobble him up! and I can sing as beautifully as I gobble. The world stops to watch and listen. I am cock robin! Look at me!'"
Artist and child laughed together as Phil handed over the wet sketch to the eager little hands. Violet's eyes were glued to it. She was wondering if later she could make a surreptitious purchase of it for Rex.
"I had heard of you before Christmas," she said. "One of my housemates goes to your art school. Regina Morris."
Phil shook his head. "I've not met any of the girls. Are you a housekeeper?"
"Three of us live together in a tiny apartment. I wish you might come to see us sometime."
Phil looked up with his frank smile. "I'll call on you at the island if you'll let me, and if I come—that last is such a big If, though Mrs. Fabian is determined."
"Oh, then you'll go. I've seen enough of Mrs. Fabian to know that."