It was only a black dress that caught
Dick Naseby's eye; but it took possession of his mind, and
all other thoughts departed. He drew near, and the girl
turned round. Her face startled him; it was a face he
wanted; and he took it in at once like breathing air.
'I beg your pardon,' he said, taking off his hat, 'you are
sketching.'
'Oh!' she exclaimed, 'for my own amusement. I despise the
thing.'
'Ten to one, you do yourself injustice,' returned Dick.
'Besides, it's a freemasonry. I sketch myself, and you know
what that implies.'
'No. What?' she asked.
'Two things,' he answered. 'First, that I am no very
difficult critic; and second, that I have a right to see your
picture.'
She covered the block with both her hands. 'Oh no,' she
said; 'I am ashamed.'
'Indeed, I might give you a hint,' said Dick. 'Although no
artist myself, I have known many; in Paris I had many for
friends, and used to prowl among studios.'
'In Paris?' she cried, with a leap of light into her eyes.
'Did you ever meet Mr. Van Tromp?'
'I? Yes. Why, you're not the Admiral's daughter, are you?'
'The Admiral? Do they call him that?' she cried. 'Oh, how
nice, how nice of them! It is the younger men who call him
so, is it not?'
'Yes,' said Dick, somewhat heavily.
'You can understand now,' she said, with an unspeakable
accent of contented noble-minded pride, 'why it is I do not
choose to show my sketch.
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