umed to touch your drawing," she said, "because it was in
danger."

"What danger?" he inquired.

Francine pointed to the pond. "If I had not been in time to pick it up,
it would have been blown into the water."

"Do you think it was worth picking up?"

Putting that question, he looked first at the sketch--then at the view
which it represented--then back again at the sketch. The corners of his
mouth turned upward with a humorous expression of scorn. "Madam Nature,"
he said, "I beg your pardon." With those words, he composedly tore his
work of art into small pieces, and scattered them out of the window.

"What a pity!" said Francine.

He joined her on the ground outside the cottage. "Why is it a pity?" he
asked.

"Such a nice drawing."

"It isn't a nice drawing."

"You're not very polite, sir."

He looked at her--and sighed as if he pitied so young a woman for having
a temper so ready to take offense. In his flattest contradictions he
always preserved the character of a politely-positive man.

"Put it in plain words, miss," he replied. "I have offended the
predominant sense in your nature--your sense of self-esteem. You don't
like to be told, even indirectly, that you know nothing of Art. In these
days, everybody knows everything--and thinks nothing worth knowing after
all. But beware how you presume on an appearance of indifference, which
is nothing but conceit in disguise. The ruling passion of civilized
humanity is, Conceit. You may try the regard of your dearest friend
in any other way, and be forgiven. Ruffle the smooth surface of your
friend's self-esteem--and there will be an acknowledged coolness between
you which will last for life. Excuse me for giving you the benefit of
my trumpery experience. This sort of smart talk is _my_ form of conceit.
Can I be of use to you in some better way? Are you looking for one of
our young ladies?"

Francine began to feel a certain reluctant interest in him when he spoke
of "our young ladies." She asked if he belonged to the school.

The corners of his mouth turned up again. "I'm one of the masters," he
said. "Are _you_ going to belong to the school, too?"

Francine bent her head, with a gravity and condescension intended
to keep him at his proper distance. Far from being discouraged, he
permitted his curiosity to take additional liberties. "Are you to have
the misfortune of being one of my pupils?" he asked.

"I don't know who you are."

"You won't be much wi