She was conscious of some one's having come into the room. That her face might not be seen she turned away and sat down before one of the pictures. She was quivering so passionately that it seemed almost impossible to hold herself within command.
The girl who had come in was moving restlessly from one picture to another; at last she walked over and sat down on the seat by Ernestine.
"I think I like this one best," she said, abruptly, nodding to the picture before them.
Ernestine nodded in reply. She was not sure what would happen were she to speak. The girl she supposed to be one of the students there.
"I would give anything in the world—just anything in the world—if I could do it too!"
At the passion of that she turned quickly and looked at the girl. In spite of the real feeling of her tone a fretful look was predominant in her face.
"Do you—work hard?" she asked, merely to relieve the pause.
"Work—yes; but mere work won't do it. I can't do anything like this,"—it was in bitterness she said it.
"Very few can, you know," murmured Ernestine.
"Yes—but I want to! I don't care anything about life—I don't care anything about anything—if I can't paint!"