But Miss Bolton was not in the least disconcerted.
“Ah, no, you’re an artist,” she replied, “a genius; that’s heavenly, you know. Don’t you recollect that an Emperor stooped for an artist’s paint brush because ‘Titian was worthy to be served by Caesar?’”
Jill’s lip curled.
“I am not a Titian,” she answered.
“Perhaps not,” continued Miss Bolton in a I-know-better tone of voice. “Anyway Jack says that you are terribly clever. He considers your paintings superior to many of those on the line this year.”
“Mr St. John is very kind but I am afraid his criticism wouldn’t avail me much. Will you tell me how far advanced you are. Of course you have studied drawing before?”
“Oh, yes! And painting also. My friends considered it a pity for me to drop it altogether with my other studies so I thought that perhaps I would take it up again. Like music it is a very useful accomplishment ‘pour passer le temps,’ you know. I am considered fairly good at it.”
“Ah!” responded Jill with uncomplimentary vagueness. “And what do you wish to go in for? Mr St. John is studying the figure—”
Miss Bolton interrupted with a little scream.
“How horrid of him,” she cried. “Not the nude, Miss Erskine, surely?”