your eyes, and so much faith in you that I know you will tell me
what you think, since I ask you to do so."

"Why have you faith in me?" she asked, with a quick, searching
glance.

"I belong somewhat to the impressionist school, and my impression
of you leads to my words."

"If you compel me to be honest, I must say I'm not capable of
criticising your picture. I know little of art, and nothing of its
TECHNIQUE."

"Eyes like yours should be able to see a great deal, and, as I said,
I am possessed by the wish to know just what they do see. There is
the scene I was sketching, and here the canvas. Please, Miss Marian."

"It will be your own fault, now, if you don't like what I say,"
laughed the young girl, with ready tact, for a quick glance or two
had already satisfied her that the picture was not to her taste.
"My only remark is this, Mr. Blauvelt,--Nature does not make the
same impression on me that it does on you. There is the scene, as
you say. How can I make you understand what I feel? Nature always
looks so natural to me! It awakens within me various emotions, but
never surprise,--I mean that kind of surprise one has when seeing
a lady dressed in colors that do not harmonize. To my eye, even in
gaudy October, Nature appears to blend her effects so that there
is nothing startling or incongruous."

"Is there anything startling and incongruous in my picture?"