“Good morning, Miss Ford,” he said, pleasantly.
“Good morning, Mr. Coleman.”
“I was just about to ask a favor of you and your father.”
Helen thought he might be intending to ask a loan of some little article, for it had come to her knowledge that he was boarding himself.
“I am sure we shall be happy to grant it,” she said, cheerfully.
“I suppose you know that I am an artist, or trying to be,” said the young man. “I have just finished a picture for exhibition at the Academy. No one has seen it yet, and I, perhaps, am not a fair judge of its merits. I should be very glad if you and Mr. Ford would take a look at it, and favor me with your opinion of it.”
“I shall be delighted to see it, and so will papa, I know,” returned Helen. “I will speak to him immediately.”
“Papa,” she said, entering the room, “Mr. Coleman is kind enough to invite us to look at a picture he has painted.”
“I beg your pardon, my dear,” said Mr. Ford, looking up abstractedly. “Did you speak?”
Helen repeated the invitation.