to
his canvas.

Sylvia approached and stood behind him, but he did not recognise her
presence, for he was absorbed in his work.

"How do you contrive----," Sylvia began.

Custance turned towards her with a quick start, for, like other artists,
he had nerves that were peculiarly sensitive and reacted acutely to
impressions. Seeing that the questioner was a beautiful girl, he
regarded her with a kindly smile.

"Forgive my rudeness," said Sylvia, "the question was almost
involuntary."

"The question is not yet completed. How do I contrive----?" he asked.

"How do you contrive to snatch up the colours of nature and place them
on your canvas?"

"I have all the colours there," he said, pointing to his palette, "and
so has every painter; but some of us approach nearer to Nature. I have
never yet succeeded in quite pleasing myself. I have the deep blue of
the sea, but not the representation of infinite depth and infinite
power."

"You approach very closely to it," she answered. "Now sit down and
paint, and let me watch you. I am a painter myself; not an artist like
you, but one who dabbles a little in an amateur fashion."

"May I see your sketch book?" he asked, and took it from her hand. "Very
good!" he cried. "Shall I tell you what I think?"

"Please do!"

"You might be an artist, if you were content with that alone; but you
are too versatile. Am I right? The result is great possibilities that
will never be realised unless you concentrate your power on one thing."

"Let me watch you," she said, "and I will resolve to do nothing but
paint."

She sat on a sand bank behind him, and he painted his picture, turning
occasionally to speak to her.

At last she rose unwillingly.

"I must go, or my friends will fancy I am lost. May I come here again
and take a few more lessons?"

"Certainly, if you will. I shall be delighted. But when this picture is
completed I pack up my effects and go. It is a pity you do not live in
Melbourne," he added regretfully.

"But I do," she answered.

"Then you must come to me and study the finishing touches of your art.
You need only a few more details and you will be an artist."

"Oh, you are too kind!" she cried.

"Not at all. It is a privilege to encourage talent," he answered.
Nevertheless had she not been an attractive woman, he would not have
offered his assistance so willingly.

"I suppose your parents will not object?" he asked. "You can assure
them I am a most trust