"Yes. But I should like to paint you as 'Melody in Flower Land.'"
"I'm afraid I can't grasp it," Gladys said.
"Can't you!" Shiel exclaimed, "I can. The idea came to me when I heard you singing just now, and saw you sitting here, in the midst of flowers, and dressed like a rose. I should paint you clad as you are now—all in pink—seated in the garden singing; and all the flowers leaning towards you listening. I would give anything to paint it," and he spoke with such enthusiasm that Gladys, remembering her dream, flushed.
"I think," she said, "we might go into the garden and see how the work is progressing."
"I fear I can't do any more digging," Shiel put in hastily, "I willingly would if I could, but I really can't use my hands."
"And you've not had any vaseline," Gladys cried. "I'll get you some," and before he could prevent her she had gone.
She was back again, however, in a few moments with a tiny white jar and some linen bandages. "I couldn't find my aunt," she began, "or she would bandage your hands for you."
"Won't you?" Shiel asked. "Do!"
He thrust his hands towards her as he spoke, and Gladys uttered an exclamation of horror—the palms and fingers were raw and swollen.
"I feel heartily ashamed of myself for being so thin-skinned," Shiel said. But Gladys had disappeared. She returned almost immediately with a bowl of water.