Mr. Norris smiled amusedly at this somewhat involved explanation.
"You are very fond of your father, I suppose?" he remarked enquiringly.
"I love him better than any one else in the whole wide world! He's so good and kind, and so clever! You should see what beautiful pictures he paints!"
"Is your father an artist?" Mr. Norris asked with keen interest.
"Yes. He paints landscapes, and people give him lots and lots of money for them. Last year he had a lovely picture in the Royal Academy, and after it was hung, he took me to see it; and do you know there was such a crowd round father's picture that he had to lift me up to look!"
Una spoke with loving pride, but without a thought of boastfulness.
"I suppose you know a great many artists?" questioned the old man anxiously. "Did you ever meet one called Norris?"
The little girl shook her head, wondering at her companion's suddenly agitated manner, for he alternately clasped and unclasped his hands, whilst his brows were knitted, and his lips were tremulous.
"Ah!" he muttered, "it would not be likely!"
"No," said Una, "I don't know any one called that. Is he a friend of yours?"