[Illustration: Felt badly] There is another vein of language which the girl with artistic tendencies sometimes works, and which equally misses, in some cases, the desired effect. “What is your sister like?” asked a boy of another boy recently. “Oh, she’s one of those girls who jabber about sunsets,” was the answer. “Want to speak to her?” “Not me!” [Illustration: The despiser of sunset] Wit is not a shining quality of this type of girl, but once in a while she contrives to be quits with the other person. “In my days,” said a severe old person some little time ago, “a girl could only be one of three things: a teacher, a shop-girl, or a servant-maid. To-day you can be doctor, gardener, whatnot. You have only to make your choice. My opinion being that you have not the slightest talent for art, Gladys, let me know what you would like to be.” Gladys (piqued): “Of the three things you have named, ‘whatnot’ displeases me least.” The severe old person smiled. [Illustration: Two innocents abroad, one being likewise artless] This sketch shall be brought to a close with a story of two innocents abroad, one of them having been the girl who goes in for art. They were evidently trippers—wedding-trippers. This is precisely what happened. They were standing before a world-famed picture in a world-famed gallery. I, standing albeit at some distance from them, seemed to myself to be in fullest evidence; but perhaps I was not. There were no other persons in the room. The girl said— “You should not say of a portrait, dear, that it looks as if you could walk round it. It sounds all right, but it’s the wrong thing to say.” To which he, smiling— “Who told you so?” “Reynolds.” To which he, no longer smiling— “Who’s Reynolds?” “Never heard of Sir Josh——” “Oh, yes. I didn’t know you meant him. Of course, I’ve heard of him. What made him say that?” “I’m not sure; but it may have been that he thought if you saw a real man you wouldn’t say, ‘He looks as if you could walk round him,’ and of course you wouldn’t.” He, smiling anew— “No, perhaps not.” “Well, then”—she was now in fine pedagogical vein—“looking at a man or woman in a picture, you should feel just what you would feel looking at a real man or woman. That’s what I understand by it, dear.” “You’re awfully clever, darling, and so was Sir Joshua, no doubt; but it’s not human nature to feel towards a man or woman in a picture just what you would feel towards a real man or woman.” As he said this, the exponent of human nature walked round the girl by his side, then caught her in his arms and kissed her. When this demonstration was over, she said— “It would have been horrid, wouldn’t it, dear, if anything had come between us and our marriage? You needn’t say ‘yes,’ because I know you mean it. Besides there’s somebody over there, and perhaps she’s taking notes.” Perhaps she was; she was in a public building.