"Oh, not a professional photographer, you know."

"I am sorry; I prefer the professional to the amateur."

"I like to hear you say that."

"Why? It is not very complimentary, I am sure."

"The very reason I like to hear you say it. If you were complimentary
I would be afraid you were going to take a chill and be ill after this
disaster; but now that you are yourself again, I have no such fear."

"Myself again!" blazed the young woman. "What do you know about me?
How do you know whether I am myself or somebody else? I am sure our
acquaintance has been very short."

"Counted by time, yes. But an incident like this, in the wilderness,
does more to form a friendship, or the reverse, than years of ordinary
acquaintance in Boston or London. You ask how I know that you are
yourself. Shall I tell you?"

"If you please."

"Well, I imagine you are a young lady who has been spoilt. I think
probably you are rich, and have had a good deal of your own way in this
world. In fact, I take it for granted that you have never met any one
who frankly told you your faults. Even if such good fortune had been
yours, I doubt if you would have profited by it. A snub would have
been the reward of the courageous person who told Miss Sommerton her
failings."