“Oh! you mustn't look at that, Mr. Redgrave. Please don't!”
He looked up at her amusedly.
“Why not? It is rather interesting. Why don't you learn to draw?”
“What would be the good?” she said. “This suits my purpose.”
The other shrugged his shoulders good-humouredly.
“That all depends upon what your purpose is,” he replied. “If you want to become an artist you must train properly for it.”
Become an artist! The words haunted her all that night. They opened up before her infinite vistas of possibilities, life in the midst of the world, the knowledge of its greatnesses and its mysteries.
In the morning she wrote to him. He invited her to come to his studio and talk over the matter. She asked Mrs. Farquharson to accompany her, but her hostess was engaged at the hour in question. Clytie looked disappointed. The home traditions asserted themselves and prevented her from thinking it possible to go unchaperoned. Mrs. Farquharson divined this and laughed in her bright way.
“Goodness gracious, my dear,” she said, “the man isn't going to eat you!”
So Clytie went alone to the studio to learn her destiny.