And then one day, to Ernestine's amazement, Rivington took her sketching-block from her and began to sketch. He worked rapidly and quite silently for about an hour, smoking furiously the while, and finally laid before her the completed sketch.
She stared at it in astonishment.
"I had no idea you were a genius. Why, it's lovely!"
He smiled a little.
"I did it for a living once, before my father died and left me enough to buy me bread and cheese. I became a loafer then, and I've been one ever since."
"But what a pity!" she exclaimed.
His smile broadened.
"It is, isn't it? But where's the sense of working when you've nothing to work for? No, it isn't the work of a genius. It's the work of a man who might do something good if he had the incentive for it, but not otherwise."
"What a pity!" she said again. "Why don't you take to it again?"
"I might," he said, "if I found it worth while."