Charles did not tax his patience long: he came running back.
"Let us begin at the beginning, like the catechism," said Craddock. "What is your name?"
"Charles Lathom."
"And mine is Arthur Craddock. So here we are."
Craddock was capable of considerable charm of manner and a disarming frankness, and already Charles felt disposed both to like and trust him.
"Your work, such as I have seen of it," Craddock went on, "interests me immensely. Also it makes me feel a hundred years old, which is not in itself pleasant, but I bear no grudge, for the means"—and he pointed at the picture, "excuse the effect. Now, my dear Lathom, be kind and answer me a few questions. You studied with Bonnart, did you not?"
"Yes, for two years."
"Only that? You used your time well. But who taught you drawing?"
Charles looked at him with a charmingly youthful modesty and candour.
"Nobody," he said. "I couldn't draw at all when I left Bonnart's. Of course I don't mean that I can draw now. But I worked very hard by myself for the last year. I felt I had to learn drawing for myself: at least Bonnart couldn't teach me."