She sat down near the cliff edge with her back to him, and he smiled to himself to find how quickly his mild manners and reserve had put the girl at her ease. She looked perfect that afternoon and he yearned to begin painting her; but his scheme of action demanded time for its perfect fulfillment and ultimate success. He let the little timorous chatterbox talk. Her voice was soft and musical as the cooing of a wood-dove, and the sweet full notes chimed in striking contrast to her uncouth speech. But Joan's diction gave pleasure to the listener. It had freedom and wildness, and was almost wholly innocent of any petrifying educational influences. Joan, for her part, felt at ease. The man was so polite and so humble. He thanked her for her information so gratefully. Moreover, he evidently cared so little about her or her looks. She felt perfectly safe, for it was easy to see that he thought more of the gorse than anything. "My faither's agin such things an' sayin's," she babbled on, "but I dunnaw. They seems truth to me, an' to many as is wiser than what I be. My mother b'lieved in 'em, an' Joe did, till faither turned en away from 'em. But when us plighted troth, I made en jine hands wi' me under a livin' spring o' water, though he said 'twas heathenish. Awnly, somehow, I knawed 'twas a proper thing to do." "I should like to hear more about these old customs some day," he said, as though Joan and he were to meet often in the future, "and I should be obliged to you for telling me about them, because I always delight in such matters." She was quicker of mind than he thought, and rose, taking his last remark as a hint that he wished to be alone. "Don't go, Joan, unless you must. I'm a very lonely man, and it is a great pleasure to me to hear you talk. Look here." She approached him, and he showed her a pencil sketch now perched on the easel--a drawing considerably larger than that upon which he had been working when she arrived. "This is a rough idea of my picture. It is going to be much larger though, and I have sent all the way to London for a canvas on which to paint it." '"Twill be a gert big picksher then?" "So big that I think I must try and get something into it besides the gorse. I want something or other in the middle, just for a change. What could I paint there?" "I dunnaw." "No more do I. I wonder how that little white pony tethered yonder would do?" Joan laughed. "You'd never get the likes o' him to bide still for 'e." "No, I'm afraid not; and I doubt if I'm clever enough to paint him either. You see, I'm only a beginner--not like these clever artists who can draw anything. Well, I must think: to-morrow is Sunday. I shall begin my big picture on Monday if the weather keeps kind. I shall paint here, in the open air. And I will bring your ship, too, if you care to take the trouble to come for it." "Yes, an' thank 'e, sir." "Not at all. I owe you thanks. Just think if I had gone home with that horrid blackthorn."