She considered.
"Nobody ever asked me to do that yet. And I never drew my own face. It would be nice, too, to think that you had a likeness of me, particularly as you cannot draw yourself. Jack, would you mind if it were not much like me?"
"I should prefer it like you. Please try. Give me yourself as you are now. Do not be afraid of making it too pretty."
"I will try to make it like. Here is Mrs. Cassilis. She did not think it was very good."
"Phil, you are a genius. Do you know that? I hold you to your promise. You will draw a portrait of yourself, and I will frame it and hang it up—no, I won't do that; I will keep it myself, and look at it when no one is with me."
"That seems very pleasant," said Phil, reflecting. "I should like to think that you are looking at me sometimes. Jack, I only met you yesterday, and we are old friends already."
"Yes; quite old familiar friends, are we not? Now tell all about yourself."
She obeyed. It was remarkable how readily she obeyed the orders of this new friend, and told him all about her life with Mr. Dyson—the garden and paddock, out of which she never went, even to church; the pony, the quiet house, and the quiet life with the old man who taught her by talking; her drawing and her music; and her simple wonder what life was like outside the gates.
"Did you never go to church, Phil?"
"No; we had prayers at home; and on Sunday evenings I sang hymns."