Not waiting to watch the issue of this momentous contest, he turned to where Rosalind sat, and reining up at the foot of her perch, dismounted.
She came down to meet him, palette in hand.
“Mr Armstrong, I am so glad to see you. I want to speak to you dreadfully. Are you in a great hurry?”
“Not at all. Brandram told me you were in trouble, and I was wondering when and where I should have the opportunity of asking how I can help you.”
He tied his horse to a stake, and helped her back to her seat on the cliff.
There was an awkward pause, which he occupied by examining her picture with a critical air.
“Do you like it?” said she.
“I don’t know. I’m no great judge. Do you?”
“I did, before you came. I’m not so sure now. Do sit down and let me say what I want to say.”
The tutor, with a flutter at his breast, sat meekly, keeping his eyes still on the picture.