"What can you do?" inquired Sandie.
"I can copy. I can take down the lines of a face, or of a bridge, or a house, when I see it before me; but I cannot put things on paper out of my thoughts. Do you remember how you did this sort of thing for me the very first time I saw you?—in the gun deck of the 'Achilles'?"
He smiled, finishing the sketch he was about.
"I remember. I remember what pleasure it gave me, too. At that time I had a little sister, just your age, of whom I was exceedingly fond."
"At that time—you had?" Dolly repeated.
"Yes," he said soberly; "I have not anybody now, of near kin to me."
Dolly's hand with mute sympathy stole into his. It was the first action of approach to him that she had made, unless that coming to him in the park three or four days before might be reckoned in the bargain. He tossed his drawing into her lap and warmly clasped the hand.
"It is time you began to talk to me, Dolly," he said. "I have talked a great deal, but you have said next to nothing. You must have a great many questions to ask me."
"I don't know," said Dolly.
"Why, you know nothing about me," he said with a laughing look of his eyes. "You had better begin. You may ask me anything."