A Counterfeit Presentment; and, The Parlour Car

by William Dean Howells

Bartlett.—"That if you would allow me to—to—guide your hand"—

Constance, frankly.—"Why, of course. Do what you like with it"—

Bartlett.—"Oh!"

Constance.—"So that you teach it a little of the skill of yours." He gently, and after some delicate hesitations, takes her hand, as it grasps the charcoal, and slowly guides it in forming the outline of the mountain. Constance, in admiration of his cleverness: "What a delicious touch you have!"

Bartlett, confusedly.—"Yes?"

Constance, regarding the outline after he has released her hand, while Bartlett, with a gesture of rapturous fondness, looks at the fingers that have guided hers, and tenderly kisses them.—"Oh, yes: I'd give anything if I had your hand!"

Bartlett.—"It's at your service always, Miss Wyatt."

Constance, still regarding the picture.—"Ah, but I should need your mind, too!"

Bartlett.—"Well?"

Constance.—"I couldn't rob you of everything." She begins to draw again, and then, in pretty, unconscious imitation of Bartlett, throws back her head.