“Ah, well,” he said with a sigh, “another time--perhaps another time.” And then by way of changing the subject Katherine hurried off to a little display of drawings on the table. Charlotte Stanley, the Rector’s eldest daughter, had her correspondence class like the other ladies; but it was a Drawing Union. She was devoted to art. She had made little drawings since ever she could remember in pencil and in slate-pencil, and finally in colour. Giotto could not have begun more spontaneously; and she was apt to think that had she been taken up as Giotto was, she, too, might have developed as he did. But short of that the Drawing Union was her favourite occupation. The members sent little portfolios about from one to another marked by pretty fictitious names. Charlotte signed herself Fenella, though it would have been difficult to tell why; for she was large and fair. The portfolio, with all the other ladies’ performances, was put out to delight the guests, and along with that several drawings of her own. She came up hastily to explain them, not, perhaps, altogether to her father’s satisfaction, but he yielded his place with his usual gentleness. “We send our drawings every month,” said the young artist, “and they are criticised first and then sent round. Mr. Strange, of the Water Colour Society, is our critic. He is quite distinguished; here is his little note in the corner. ‘Good in places, but the sky is heavy, and there is a want of atmospheric effect’--that is Fair Rosamond’s. Oh, yes, I know her other name, but we are not supposed to mention them; and this is one of mine--see what he says: ‘Great improvement, shows much desire to learn, but too much stippling and great hardness in parts.’ I confess I am too fond of stippling,” Charlotte said. “And then every month we have a composition. ‘The Power of Music’ was the subject last time--that or ‘Sowing the Seed.’ I chose the music. You will think, perhaps, it is very simple.” She lifted a drawing in which a little child in a red frock and blue pinafore stood looking up at a bird of uncertain race in a cage. “You see what he says,” Charlotte continued--“‘Full of good intention, the colour perhaps a little crude, but there is much feeling in the sketch.’ Now, feeling was precisely what I aimed at,” she said.