"You might be an artist, if you were content with that alone; but you are too versatile. Am I right? The result is great possibilities that will never be realised unless you concentrate your power on one thing."
"Let me watch you," she said, "and I will resolve to do nothing but paint."
She sat on a sand bank behind him, and he painted his picture, turning occasionally to speak to her.
At last she rose unwillingly.
"I must go, or my friends will fancy I am lost. May I come here again and take a few more lessons?"
"Certainly, if you will. I shall be delighted. But when this picture is completed I pack up my effects and go. It is a pity you do not live in Melbourne," he added regretfully.
"But I do," she answered.
"Then you must come to me and study the finishing touches of your art. You need only a few more details and you will be an artist."
"Oh, you are too kind!" she cried.
"Not at all. It is a privilege to encourage talent," he answered. Nevertheless had she not been an attractive woman, he would not have offered his assistance so willingly.