'Well!' said he comically, 'it is said that no man knows
himself--how it may be with women I can't say!' And he made
over the sketch in his hand and went to his former work; which
had been cutting a stick.

There was more in this second sketch. The handling was
effective as it had been swift. Considering that fifteen
minutes and a lead pencil were all, there had been a great
deal done, in a style that proved use and cultivation as well
as talent. The rocks, upper and lower, were truly given; the
artist had chosen a different state of light from the actual
hour of the day, and had thus thrown a great mass into fine
relief. Round it the ferns and mosses and creepers with a
light hand were beautifully indicated. But in the nook where
Wych Hazel had stationed herself, there was no pretty little
figure with her book on her lap; in its place, sharply and
accurately given, was a scraggy, irregular shaped bush, with a
few large leaves and knobby excrescences which looked like
acorns, but an oak it was not, still less a tree. The topmost
branch was crowned with Miss Kennedy's nodding hat, and upon
another branch lay her open drawing book. Miss Kennedy shook
her head.

'I cannot deny the relationship!--Your style of handling is
perhaps a trifle dry. That is not what you call an "ideal
woman," is it, Mr. Rollo?'

'I might fairly retort upon that. What do you say to our
moving from this ground, before the band up there gets into