"Don't," said Robert Pringle.
"Do," cried Lucian. "As I may have said before, if you make half as much of yourself as Amy, nothing could be better for you than college."
"Be yourself," said Robert with an air of wisdom. "Not Amy nor Priscilla, nor any one else. You have the artistic temperament."
"Nonsense," replied Martine, with difficulty repressing a smile. "That's a very sophomorific speech. You've got it out of some of your philosophy courses."
"Or one of the college magazines," growled Lucian. "People who are just beginning to write always love to talk about temperament."
"Well," persisted Robert, "Fritz Tomkins says that Mrs. Redmond says that you have great talent."
"Oh, yes," responded Martine, laughing, "my class at the Mansion considers me a true artist, because I can paint trees and grass that look real; but to tell you the truth, Robert, and to show you that you're not wholly wrong, I will admit that if I hadn't been so busy at school, I should have studied with Mrs. Redmond this spring. I just wish I had time for a sketching class, but fond as I am of riding, I can barely manage an hour's ride twice a week. That reminds me, Lucian," and Martine turned to her brother, "if you can afford a new auto, I surely can afford a new riding-horse. Wherever we go this summer, I mean to ride."
"No, no," cried Lucian, "that is, I probably shall not have the auto, much as I want it."
"Don't worry," said Robert, "you'll get it in season; if it isn't out by June, they'll have it for you in July."
"Oh, that wasn't what I meant," rejoined Lucian, "only—" but at this moment he did not explain what he really had intended to say.