_Constance._--"Why not? A woman can put on another woman's bonnet for her." _General Wyatt._--"Ah, that's a different thing. A man doesn't wear his hat for looks." _Constance._--"That's true, papa,--_some_ of them." She turns gaily from her father, and looks up at Bartlett, who has smilingly listened. She gives a start, and suppresses a cry; she passes her hand quickly over her eyes, and then staying herself a moment with one hand on the back of a chair resumes with forced calm: "Shall we begin, now--ah--Mr.--Bartlett?" An awkward silence ensues, in which Bartlett remains frowning, and the General impatiently flings open a newspaper. Then Bartlett's frown relaxes into a compassionate response to her appealing look. _Bartlett._--"Yes, I'm quite ready. But it's you who are to begin, Miss Wyatt. I am to assume the safe and eligible position of art critic. I wish I had some of those fellows who write about my pictures before an easel; I'd stand their unpleasant company a while for the sake of taking the conceit out of them. Not but what my pictures _are_ bad enough,--as bad as any critic says, for that matter. Well, Miss Wyatt; here is the charcoal, and yonder out-doors is the mountain." _Constance._--"Excuse me a moment. Papa, will our talking disturb you?" To Bartlett: "I suppose we will have to talk a little?" _Bartlett._--"A little." _General Wyatt_, from behind his paper.--"It won't disturb me if you don't talk to me." _Constance._--"We'll try not." To Bartlett: "Well?" _Bartlett_, as Constance places herself before the canvas, and receiving the charcoal from his fingers, glances out at Ponkwasset.--"May I ask why you chose such a capacious canvas?" _Constance_, in meek surprise.--"Why, the mountain being a large object"-- _Bartlett._--"A large canvas was necessary, I see. There's reason in that. But were you going to do it life size?" _Constance_, as before.--"Why, no!" _Bartlett._--"What was your idea?" _Constance._--"I don't know. I thought--I thought I would have the mountain in the back-ground, with some clouds over it, and a few figures in the foreground, to give it a human interest." _Bartlett._--"Yes, that's a good notion. Well, now begin. First get your distance-- No; better strike in a horizon line first. That will keep you right. Draw the line straight across the middle of the canvas." Constance retires a few steps from the canvas, measures its spaces with her eye, and then with a glance at the horizon outside draws. Bartlett, looking over her shoulder: "Straight, straight! The line should be straight. Don't you see?" _Constance_, falteringly.--"I meant that for a straight line." _Bartlett._--"Oh! well! Yes! I see. However, now you've got it in, hadn't you better use it for a _curved_ line? Say for that wavering outline of the hills beyond Ponkwasset?" _Constance._--"Why, if you think so, Mr. Bartlett."