“Just as I smashed my fiddle! But no! I tell you, the fates have charge of our business. They are the supreme and ultimate court—the lords of high decision. They have already fixed the fabulous prices which you are to get for your portraits. My sister will undoubtedly have you paint hers. If you and she are friends you can’t escape. Fanny’s always having her picture painted.”
“Oh, but I’m not so foolish as to think I could do portraits—not if I lived a thousand years. My ambition stops at pen and ink. If I can only learn to be just a little bit of an illustrator I shall be satisfied.”
“Excellent! I approve of that! It’s just as hard, they tell me, and the market is better! When you are not studying or helping at the settlement house or listening to music what do you do? You must have a scheme of life all worked out for yourself.”
“Oh, I often go for long walks, in the afternoon—take a trolley as far as it will carry me and then strike off for the hills, and walk and walk and walk.”
“I suppose you carry a sketch book to see how nature compares with the landscapes at the Institute?”
“No; landscape is beyond me; it’s too big for me. People interest me more, children particularly.”
“Well, of course if you want juvenile models I needn’t offer myself.”
“No, you needn’t,” she said with so crisp an emphasis that he laughed.
“But you might take me along to sit by and sharpen the pencils; that would save you a lot of bother.”
“It might, but you see I use ink!”