"I meant that I should never really be hurt by qualifications. I have never been used to having nice things said to me. I certainly do not deserve tributes, but I know I deserve all possible qualifications."
"Oh, if you please! I'll not allow even Miss Robinson to say such slanderous things about so valued a friend of mine."
"So I have been slandering a friend of yours! I'm so sorry. Forgive me."
"I suppose I must—though I find it hard—very hard."
"I do believe you are paying me a tribute," she laughed. "Now for the qualifications. You shall see how stoical I am."
"Qualifications—none!" He threw down his brushes and palette, as if to emphasise the declaration. "I'm tired first," he sang out gaily. "Let us rest."
"There!" she exclaimed. "What a triumph for me!"
"But you say it so gently that it is a pleasure to concede you the victory. You are an ideal foe."
"Oh, if you please, I don't want to be a foe. ... How cold it is!" She stooped and held her hands again to the fire.
"No, child," he said gently, "of course we aren't foes. We are very good friends indeed, aren't we?" He held out his hand, as if to clench the understanding, so clearly and warmly acknowledged.