Miss Cooke stepped to Curtis's side. "You've been in Washington before?" she asked, with an inflection which he hated.
"Oh yes, many times. In fact, I lived here till I was sixteen. I was born in Maryland, not far from here."
"Indeed! Then you know the city thoroughly?"
"Certain sides of it. Exteriorly and officially I know it; socially, I am a stranger to it. My people were proud and poor. A good old family in a fine old house, and very little besides."
Elsie led the way slowly up the big staircase, secretly hoping Miss Cooke would find it too cool for her thin blood. She wished to be alone with Curtis, and this wish, obscure as it was, grew stronger as she set a chair for him and placed a frame on an easel.
"You really need daylight to see them properly."
"Am I to make remarks?"
"Certainly; tell me just what you think."
"Then let me preface my helpful criticisms by saying that I don't know an earthly thing about painting. We had drawing, of a certain kind, at the academy, and I used to visit the galleries in New York when occasion served. Now you know the top and the bottom of my art education."
"It's cold in here, Elsie," broke in Miss Cooke, whom they had quite forgotten. "Is the steam turned on?"