human
Ah! Oh!
gpt
Constance, Constance, darling! What's the matter?
human
Oh, nothing--nothing. She laughs, nervously.
gpt
I thought there was nobody--here; and it--startled me. How do you do, Mr. Cummings? She goes quickly up to that gentleman, and gives him her hand.
human
Don't you think it wonderful to find such a day as this, up here, at this time of year?
gpt
Yes, I supposed I had come quite too late for anything of the sort. You must make haste with your Ponkwasset, Miss Wyatt, or you'll have to paint him with his winter cap on.
human
Ah, yes! My picture. Mr. Bartlett has been telling you. Her eyes have already wandered away from Cummings, and they now dwell, with a furtive light of reparation and imploring upon Bartlett's disheartened patience:
gpt
Good _morning_.
human
How is the light on the mountain this morning?
gpt
Oh, very well, very well indeed, thank you.
human
Did you like what I had done on it yesterday?
gpt
Oh, yes; why not?
human
I was afraid I had vexed you--by it. She bends an appealing glance upon him, to which Bartlett remains impervious, and she drops her eyes with a faint sigh. Then she lifts them again:
gpt
I was afraid I had--made the distance too blue.
human
Oh, no; not at all.
gpt
Do you think I had better try to finish it?
human
Oh, certainly. Why not? If it amuses you!
gpt
Of course. Then with a sad significance:
human
But I know I am trying your patience too far. You have been so kind, so good, I can't forgive myself for annoying you.
gpt
It doesn't annoy me. I'm very glad to be useful to you.
human
I didn't mean painting; I meant--screaming. She lifts her eyes to Bartlett's face, with a pathetic, inquiring attempt at lightness, the slightest imaginable experimental archness in her self-reproach, which dies out as Bartlett frowns and bites the corner of his moustache in unresponsive silence.
gpt
I ought to be well enough now to stop it: I'm quite well enough to be ashamed of it.
human
There's no reason why you should stop it--if it amuses you. She looks at him in surprise at this rudeness.
gpt
Do you wish to try your hand at Ponkwasset this morning?
human
No; thanks. Then with a lapse into her morbid self-abasement:
gpt
I shall not touch it again. Mamma!
human
Yes, Constance.