g smoothness.
They did a little fishing and a good deal of quiet lazing, a little
exploring, and even one or two long, all-day rambles.

And then one day, to Ernestine's amazement, Rivington took her
sketching-block from her and began to sketch. He worked rapidly and
quite silently for about an hour, smoking furiously the while, and
finally laid before her the completed sketch.

She stared at it in astonishment.

"I had no idea you were a genius. Why, it's lovely!"

He smiled a little.

"I did it for a living once, before my father died and left me enough to
buy me bread and cheese. I became a loafer then, and I've been one ever
since."

"But what a pity!" she exclaimed.

His smile broadened.

"It is, isn't it? But where's the sense of working when you've nothing
to work for? No, it isn't the work of a genius. It's the work of a man
who might do something good if he had the incentive for it, but not
otherwise."

"What a pity!" she said again. "Why don't you take to it again?"

"I might," he said, "if I found it worth while."

He tapped the ashes from his pipe and settled himself at full length.

"Surely it is worth while!" she protested. "Why, you might make quite a
lot of money."

Rivington stuck the empty pipe between his teeth and pulled at it
absently.

"I'm not particularly keen on money," he said.

"But it's such a waste," she argued. "Oh, I wish I had your talent. I
would never let it lie idle."

"It isn't my fault," he said; "I am waiting for an inspiration."

"What do you mean by an inspiration?"

He turned lazily upon his side and looked at her.

"Let us say, for instance, if some nice little woman ever cared to marry
me," he said.

There fell a sudden silence. Ernestine was studying his sketch with her
head on one side. At length, "You will never marry," she said, in a tone
of conviction.

"Probably not," agreed Rivington.

He lay still for a few seconds, then sat up slowly and removed his pipe
to peer over her shoulder.

"It isn't bad," he said critically.

She flashed him a sudden smile.

"Do take it up again!" she pleaded. "It's really wicked of you to go and
bury a talent like that."

He shook his head.

"I can't sketch just to please myself. It isn't in me."

"Do it to please me, then," she said impulsively.

He smiled into her eyes.

"Would it please you, Chirpy?"

Her eyes met his with absolute candour.

"Immensely," she said. "Immensely! You know it would."