Noiselessly Chris drew near, a dancing imp of mischief in her eyes. She wanted to get a glimpse of the work of art that he was elaborating with such care before he discovered her. But his sensibilities were too subtle for her. Quite suddenly he became aware of her and whizzed round.
He made her a low bow, but Chris waived the ceremony of greeting with impatient curiosity. "I want to see what you are doing. I may look?"
"But certainly, mademoiselle."
She came eagerly forward and looked.
"Oh," she said, "is that the dragon? What an awesome creature! Is he really like that? How splendidly you have done his scales! And what frightful claws! Why"—she turned upon him—"you are an artist!"
He shrugged his shoulders, with his ready smile. "I am whatever mademoiselle desires."
"How nice!" said Chris. "Well, go on being an artist, please. Draw something else!"
"I think it is your turn now, mademoiselle," he said.
"Oh, but I'm no good at it," she protested. "I can't compete. You are much too clever."
He laughed at that and began again.