"He hated going, poor fellow. He came to say good-bye to me the night before he went, and he was in a dreadful state. I've heard from him every week since he sailed, and he's promised to send me some bearskins. Isn't it nice of him?" ("She won't like that!")
Miss Haviland assented gravely, but her eyes smiled.
"I suppose you've seen a good deal of Vincent? He wrote to me about you from the Rocky Mountains."
"Did he? We used to be a good deal together when we were little. Since then we have been the best of friends, which means that we ignore each other's existence with the most perfect understanding in the world. I always liked Vincent."
This was reassuring. Miss Haviland's manner was candour itself; and depend upon it, if there had been any self-consciousness about her, Audrey would have found it out at once. She dropped the subject, and looked about her for another. The suggestions of the place were obvious.
"I see you are a great artist. My cousin didn't prepare me for that."
Miss Haviland laughed.
"Vincent is probably unaware of the interesting fact, like the rest of the world."
"That picture is very beautiful; may I look at it?" said Audrey, going up to the easel.
"Certainly. It's hardly finished yet, and I don't think it will be particularly beautiful when it is. I can't choose my subjects."