Doris protested indignantly.
"Now don't pretend that you are a wholesome animal," said her father, looking at her with infinite pride. "You like horses and dogs, that is the one human thing about you. By the way, did you make any sketches in Norway, Miss Maclean?"
"Very few. Norway was too big for me. I did some pretentious genrebilder of women in their native dress, and a hut with a goat browsing at the foot of a tree that grew on the roof."
"Both goat and tree being on the roof?"
"Both goat and tree being on the roof. The tree is a very common feature in that situation; the goat was somewhat exceptional."
"So I should think," said Doris. "I should like to see that sketch."
"Oh, when you want to turn an honest penny," said Mr Colquhoun, "I will give you fifty pounds for your sketch-book any day."
"Indeed I am sorely in want of fifty pounds at the present moment," laughed Mona, "and, regarded as a work of art, you might have the book for sixpence. But there is a sort of indecency in selling one's diary."
"It is not as a work of art that I want it," he said candidly, "though there is something of that in it too. It is like your father's college note-books." He laughed at the recollection. "You have a knack of knowing the right thing to sketch, which is rare among men, and unique among women."
"Thank you very much, but I am afraid I never appreciate a compliment at the expense of my sex."