“It is quite a lot,” she agreed. “Shall I go home now? I’ll come again.”
“Would you mind shaking hands, Miss Little-Anne?” asked Edwin Wilberforce, stooping from his great height to carry out his suggestion. “I wish you would take me for another friend of yours. I can play games and the jews’-harp! When you hear me play Wagner on the jews’-harp you will be proud that you know me.”
Little Anne looked up at him with dancing eyes. She did not know Wagner, but she did know the jews’-harp.
“I can play on blades of grass perfec’ly wonderful,” she said.
“You’ll do!” shouted Ted Wilberforce. “We’ll have duets. Say, Miss Little-Anne, I’d like to paint you! Seated in a chair with a high, carved back, clad in a long, straight green gown falling to your feet, and having a nice little, tight little white yoke top with a band around your throat; your hair straight and ribbonless on each side of your thin little face, and in your hands, resting on your knees, a fine old tooled “Book of Hours” which I own! I’d call the picture—call it—The Mystic! That’s it! With that face and those eyes, visions just beyond, eh, Dick?”
“You’ve got her,” agreed Richard. “Will you sit, little Anne?”
“Do you paint people?” inquired little Anne. “I thought you put cows in your pictures. Mr. Latham has a lovely, still field with a cow in it; he said you painted it.”
“Still field! Fair for adjectives, eh, Dick?” cried Ted, delighted. “I assure you, Miss Little-Anne, that I also paint portraits. Will you sit to me?”
“I’d perfec’ly love it!” said little Anne. “But I never was pretty; I was always dark and thin. I thought sitters were pretty. I have a niece who is the prettiest child in all the world. She’s so fat and pink she has to dimple. I never was a fas’nating child like Barbara, but if you’d like to paint my picture I’d be so pleased I couldn’t say it. And there’s one thing, I can sit as still!”
“Then that’s settled! And when you sit to me we shall chat all the time, and possibly we shall let Mr. Latham come to help us talk. I’m going to stay awhile; we’ll meet often, I hope. Good-bye, Miss Little-Anne.”