“I think it matters very much—at least, it matters very much to me. I shall always regret having treated you as I did, and I hope you will forgive me for having done so.”
“Oh, that’s all right,” said Mr. Trenton, swinging his camera over his shoulder. “It is getting dark, Miss Sommerton; I think we should hurry down to the canoe.”
As they walked down the hill together, he continued—
“I wish you would let me give you a little lesson in photography, if you don’t mind.”
“I have very little interest in photography, especially amateur photography,” replied Miss Sommerton, with a partial return of her old reserve.
“Oh, I don’t wish to make an amateur photographer of you. You sketch very nicely, and—”
“How do you know that?” asked Miss Sommerton, turning quickly towards him: “you have never seen any of my sketches.”
“Ah, well,” stammered Trenton, “no—that is—you know—are not those water-colours in Mason’s house yours?”
“Mr. Mason has some of my sketches. I didn’t know you had seen them.”
“Well, as I was saying,” continued Trenton, “I have no desire to convert you to the beauties of amateur photography. I admit the results in many cases are very bad. I am afraid if you saw the pictures I take myself you would not be much in love with the art. But what I wish to say is in mitigation of my refusal to destroy the plate when you asked me to.”