Paul stared at her for fully thirty seconds in absolute silence. Then he honored these sage remarks with a contemptuous grunt.
“Well, that helps a lot I must say,” he said, sarcastically. “If I waited for any one of those things to happen, I’d be pounding dough until doomsday! Thanks!” and with that he turned away and resumed his restless promenade around the room. Jane shrugged her shoulders. A rather long and chilly pause followed. Paul was disappointed in her; but his silent indignation seemed to trouble her very little, and after a while, he threw a cold glance at her. But she was sitting with her back toward him, and so he felt the need of rousing her attention in another way.
“You think, I may not care about painting as much as I think I do?”
“Maybe, maybe not. I said, I’d wait and see,” returned Jane placidly.
“Humph. And you think Uncle might change his mind?”
“He might.”
“And what chance is there of another Winkler showing up, I’d like to know? One in ten thousand!”
“It might be better than that.” Paul sat down on the edge of the table, and glowered at the back of her head. Then gradually a slow, unwilling grin broke over his face.
“You’re a nice one to preach patience!”
“Oh, I’m quite patient sometimes.”