“Am I?” said Katie, with a smile, as she rose and shook hands.
“Yes, I—I—assure you, Miss Durant,” said Queeker, bowing to Fanny, on whose fat pretty face there was a scarlet flush, the result either of the suddenness of Queeker’s entry, or of the suppression of her inveterate desire to laugh, “I assure you that it quite rouses my admiration to observe the ease with which you can turn your hand to anything. You can write out accounts better than any fellow in our office. Then you play and sing with so much ease, and I often find you making clothes for poor people, with pounds of tea and sugar in your pockets, besides many other things, and now, here you are painting like—like—one of the old masters!”
This was quite an unusual burst on the part of Queeker, who felt as though he were making some amends for his unfaithfulness in thus recalling and emphatically asserting the unquestionably good qualities of his lady-love. He felt as if he were honestly attempting to win himself back to his allegiance.
“You are very complimentary,” said Katie, with a glance at her cousin, which threw that young lady into silent convulsions.
“Not at all,” cried Queeker, forcing his enthusiasm up to white heat, and seizing a drawing, which he held up before him, in the vain attempt to shut Fanny out of his sight.
“Now, I call this most beautiful,” he said, in tones of genuine admiration. “I never saw anything so sweet before.”
“Indeed!” said Katie, who observed that the youth was gazing over the top of the drawing at her cousin. “I am so glad you like it, for, to say truth, I have felt disappointed with it myself, and papa says it is only so-so. Do point out to me its faults, Mr Queeker, and the parts you like best.”
She rose and looked over Queeker’s shoulder with much interest, and took hold of the drawing to keep it firmly in its position.
There was an excessively merry twinkle in Katie’s eyes as she watched the expression of Queeker’s face when he exclaimed—
“Faults, Miss Durant, there are no—eh! why, what—”