“Now, that is very clever. Where did you learn to make pictures?”
Paul shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t know.”
Then Aunt Gertrude, suddenly remembering the business in hand, put on a severe expression.
“That is all very well; but what have you learned to-day from me? Nothing! I have wasted my time! Oh, you are—”
“There, Aunt Gertrude,—I know all about those old cakes. Please just let me—”
“Old cakes, indeed!”
“Beautiful, wo-onderful cakes, then. Please just let me finish this, like a nice good aunt. And then, I’ll tell you what—I’ll finish it in colors, and I’ll give it to you. You haven’t any idea how lovely you are to draw, Aunt Gertrude—you’re so nice and round.”
Aunt Gertrude tried not to simper; she was as susceptible to flattery as a girl of sixteen, and found it impossible to resist even when she knew perfectly that she was being cozened.
“What nonsense!” But nonetheless she resumed her position at the bowl of dough again, and Paul chatted artfully, to distract her thoughts from his lesson in cooking, while he hastily completed the sketch.