"Some taste, scarce any skill."
There was something quite genuine in her tone—not the least tinge of mock-modesty—as she turned over the pages, and touched them here and there, while her manner was singularly devoid of coquetry. Wilton might have been her grandfather for all of embarrassment or excitement his attentions caused.
"And you can draw; perhaps you know these trees; they are not far from Monkscleugh."
She showed him a group of beeches most delicately yet clearly drawn.
"I do not know the neighborhood. I am going there for the first time. May I ask if you reside there?"
"Yes, at present. Oh, you will find a great deal to sketch all about—especially by the river—and there is beauty, too, in the gray skies and rich brown moors; but how unlike the beauty of the sunny south!"
"It is not necessary to ask which you like; your voice tells that," said Wilton.
"And are you not fond of drawing?" she resumed, as if the subject had an irresistible attraction.
"You would not look at such school-boy productions as mine," returned Wilton, smiling. "As I said before, they are mere rough professional drawings."