"Yes," said Betty; "oh, yes."

"Do you often go a-sketching?" he asked.

"How modest he is," thought Betty; "he changes the subject so as not
to seem to want to be praised."

Aloud she answered with shy fluttered earnestness: "Yes--no. I don't
know. Sometimes."

His lips were grave, but there was the light behind his eyes that goes
with a smile.

"What unnecessary agitation!" he was thinking. "Poor little thing, I
suppose she's never seen a man before. Oh, these country girls!" Aloud
he was saying: "This is such a perfect country. You ought to sketch
every day."

"I've no one to teach me," said Betty, innocently phrasing a long-felt
want.

The man raised his eyebrows. "Well, after that, here goes!" he said to
himself. "I wish you'd let _me_ teach you," he said to her, beginning
to put his traps together.

"Oh, I didn't mean that," said Betty in real distress. What would he
think of her? How greedy and grasping she must seem! "I didn't mean
that at all!"

"No; but I do," he said.