"Yes, I know; I saw her before I saw you, though I didn't know she was your sister then. She seems to work hard—I mean she is out a great deal."
"Yes, it's just the sort of country she likes; I think she's sorry we're going. She talks about coming back in the autumn to make some more studies here."
"You're going?" he said blankly. "Are you? When?"
"Our month is up the day after to-morrow; we only came for a month."
There was the slightest pause, while he cursed himself for wasted weeks.
"And you," he asked, "do you paint too?"
"I? Oh no." She smiled her foolish smile, complacent in the consciousness of youth and a profile. His eyes allayed her misgivings about her hair. "I don't do anything; I'm quite ordinary," she said.
David smiled with her. There was a fascination in pretending to know nothing of her mind when he believed he knew so much.
"It's original to be ordinary now that everybody is a genius."
"Is everybody a genius?" She looked a shade vacant. "Perhaps you live in London? Our home is in Beckenhampton; in the provinces, I am afraid, we are rather out of it."