_Bartlett._--"And I'll just strike in the horizon line here." He draws rapidly, steps back a pace, approaches, and touches Constance's line at different points. Then he gives her the chalk again. "Now, scratch in the outline of Ponkwasset." Constance begins to draw. "Ah! Wait a moment, please. You're not quite getting it. Will you let me?" Constance offers him the charcoal, which he declines with a gesture, "No, no! _You_ must do it. I meant"-- _Constance._--"What?" _Bartlett._--"That if you would allow me to--to--guide your hand"-- _Constance_, frankly.--"Why, of course. Do what you like with it"-- _Bartlett._--"Oh!" _Constance._--"So that you teach it a little of the skill of yours." He gently, and after some delicate hesitations, takes her hand, as it grasps the charcoal, and slowly guides it in forming the outline of the mountain. Constance, in admiration of his cleverness: "What a delicious touch you have!" _Bartlett_, confusedly.--"Yes?" _Constance_, regarding the outline after he has released her hand, while Bartlett, with a gesture of rapturous fondness, looks at the fingers that have guided hers, and tenderly kisses them.--"Oh, yes: I'd give anything if I had your hand!" _Bartlett._--"It's at your service always, Miss Wyatt." _Constance_, still regarding the picture.--"Ah, but I should need your mind, too!" _Bartlett._--"Well?" _Constance._--"I couldn't rob you of everything." She begins to draw again, and then, in pretty, unconscious imitation of Bartlett, throws back her head. _Bartlett_, breaking forth in rapture at her movement and attitude.--"Oh, divine!" _Constance_, innocently beaming upon him.--"Do you think so? I didn't suppose I could get it so at once. Is it really good?" _Bartlett_, recalled to himself.--"Who? What? Yes, yes; it isn't bad. Not at all bad. That is"-- _Constance_, disappointedly.--"I thought you liked it." Gravely: "Why did you say it was divine?" _Bartlett._--"Because--I--I--thought so!" _Constance_, with mystification.--"I'm afraid I don't understand. Shall I let this outline remain for Ponkwasset, or shall I use it for something else?" _Bartlett._--"Yes, let it remain for Ponkwasset; if it needs changing that can easily be done afterwards. Now block out your middle distance. So!" He takes the charcoal from her and draws. "Now, then, sketch in your figures." _Constance_, timidly.--"How large shall I make them?" _Bartlett._--"Oh, as large as you like. How large did you think?" _Constance._--"I don't know. About a foot high." _Bartlett._--"Well, try them." Constance draws, and Bartlett regards the operation with gestures and contortions of countenance expressive of mingled tenderness for Constance and extreme suffering from her performance. She turns about, and surprises him with his hands clutched in his shaggy hair. _Constance_, with dignity.--"What is the matter, Mr. Bartlett?"