"Phil, if you begin to flatter me you will spoil me; and I shall not be half so good a friend when I am spoiled. Won't you give this to me?"
"No; I keep my portfolio all to myself. But I will draw a better one, if you like, of you, and finish it up properly, like this."
She showed him a pencil-drawing of a face which Rembrandt himself would have loved to paint. It was the face of an old man, wrinkled and crows-footed.
"That is my guardian, Mr. Dyson. I will draw you in the same style. Poor dear guardian! I think he was very fond of me."
Another thought struck the young man.
"Phil, will you instead make me a drawing—of your own face?"
"But can you not do it for yourself?"
"I? Phil, I could not even draw a haystack."
"What a misfortune! It seems worse than not being able to read."
"Draw me a picture of yourself, Phil."