delicate bloom of their cheeks, and wondered what mysterious
proportions of white, ochre, and carmine she would have to use to
obtain it. The bright blue and grey of the eyes frightened her. She
felt sure that such colour did not exist in the little tin tubes that
lay in rows in the black japanned box by her side. Already she
despaired. But before she began to paint she would have to draw those
heavenly faces in every feature. It was more difficult than sketching
from nature. She could not follow the drawing, it seemed to escape
her. It did not exist in lines which she could measure, which she
could follow. It seemed to have grown out of the canvas rather than to
have been placed there. The faces were leaned over--illusive
foreshortenings which she could not hope to catch. The girl in front
of her was making, it seemed to Mildred, a perfect copy. There seemed
to be no difference, or very little, between her work and Reynolds's.
Mildred felt that she could copy the copy easier than she could the
original.

But on the whole she got on better than she had expected, and it was
not till she came to the fifth head, that she found she had drawn them
all a little too large, and had not sufficient space left on her
canvas. This was a disappointment. There was nothing for it but to
dust out her drawing and begin it all again. She grew absorbed in her
work; she did not see the girl in front of her, nor the young man
copying opposite; she did not notice their visits to each other's
easels; she forgot everything in the passion of drawing. Time went by
without her perceiving it; she was startled by the sound of her
master's voice and looked in glad surprise.

'How are you getting on?' he said.