'I don't know. One of these days I shall find out my true vocation.'

'You're young, you are beautiful---'

'No, I'm not beautiful, but there are times when I look nice.'

'Yes, indeed there are. Those hands, how white they are in the
moonlight.' He took her hands. 'Why do you trouble and rack your soul
about painting? A woman's hands are too beautiful for a palette and
brushes.'

The words were on her tongue to ask him if he did not admire Rose's
hands equally, but remembering the place, the hour, and the fact of
her having made his acquaintance only a few hours before, she thought
it more becoming to withdraw her hands, and to say:

'The others do not seem to be coming back. We had better return.'

They moved out of the shadows of the pines, and stood looking down the
sandy pathway.

'How filmy and grey those top branches, did you ever see anything so
delicate?'

'I never saw anything like this before. This is primeval.... I used to
walk a good deal with a friend of mine in St. James' Park.'

'The park where the ducks are, and a little bridge. Your friend was
not an artist.'