A look of such unqualified admiration overspread the young man's face
that the last remnants of the ice-pack melted. For the first time since
they had met Annette found herself positively liking this blackguardly
floor-smiter.

'Can you compose music?' he said, impressed.

'I have written one or two songs.'

'It must be great to be able to do things--artistic things, I mean,
like composing.'

'Well, you do, don't you? You paint.'

The young man shook his head with a cheerful grin.

'I fancy,' he said, 'I should make a pretty good house-painter. I want
scope. Canvas seems to cramp me.'

It seemed to cause him no discomfort. He appeared rather amused than
otherwise.

'Let me look.'

She crossed over to the easel.

'I shouldn't,' he warned her. 'You really want to? Is this not mere
recklessness? Very well, then.'