been part of the sunshine above us, over her lovely face.
“I must not take credit to myself where no credit is due,” she said, her clear, truthful blue eyes looking alternately at Miss Halcombe and at me. “Fond as I am of drawing, I am so conscious of my own ignorance that I am more afraid than anxious to begin. Now I know you are here, Mr. Hartright, I find myself looking over my sketches, as I used to look over my lessons when I was a little girl, and when I was sadly afraid that I should turn
and to wait till the omelette comes in. In the second case, I will give you some tea to compose your spirits, and do all a woman can (which is very little, by-the-bye) to hold my tongue.”
She handed me my cup of tea, laughing gaily. Her light flow of talk, and her lively familiarity of manner with