The spectacles interfered somewhat with the arch play of her eyebrows as she said this, very demurely.
He looked, if possible, a little abashed.
“Well, I can hardly say that I recommended it. In fact, I rather tried to warn you off it. I thought it would be too rough for a lady. I am glad you find it pretty comfortable.”
“I only wanted quiet, like you,” she said. “I have been very much overwrought, lately, and this is the very thing for me. You see, I am trying to occupy myself a little!” she pointed to her sketch.
“But you have not got the best point of view—not by any means,” he exclaimed. “I am not venturing to look at your drawing, of course, but I know——”
“Oh, please!” she said, holding up the sketch. “If only you would, I should be so grateful.”
He looked at her drawing carefully and critically.
“You really have not at all a bad idea; but I should sacrifice that sketch if I were you—you have not got very far on with it, and the abutment of the bridge comes so badly in it—and begin a new one, here, further down ... I will show you.”
Without any exhibition of the amateur’s stubbornness, she rose cheerfully, and allowed him to move her camp-stool for her to a place where the abutment presented a more graceful aspect. Little did she care for abutments, but she was delighted that he should take an interest in her work. He stood looking at the view he had chosen for her with professionally half-closed eyes.
“It comes better from here, don’t you think!” he said.