human
Mr. Bartlett
gpt
Recalled from exile already? Well?
human
I'm afraid I can't get by this point alone.
gpt
Yes? Let's see it.
human
The question is how to get in some idea of those slopes of the mountain. These things seem to crowd everything out.
gpt
I see. You have been composing a little,--idealising. Well, I don't object to that. Though perhaps it had better come later. This long stretch of rocky cliff
human
Rocky cliff?
gpt
Isn't in nature, but it might have a good effect if properly utilised
human
But it isn't rocky cliff, Mr. Bartlett. It's
gpt
Why, of course! It's that stretch of broken woodland at the foot of the mountain. Very good; very good indeed; very boldly treated. Still, I should say
human
Oh, Mr. Bartlett, it _isn't_ rocks, and it isn't _woods_; it's--_hay-stacks_!
gpt
Hay-stacks?
human
Yes, hay-stacks.
gpt
But hay-stacks at the foot of the mountain, Miss Wyatt
human
They're _not_ at the foot of the mountain. They're those hay-stacks, just out there in the meadow. I thought it would be nice to have them in near that clump of birches you drew.
gpt
Oh-h-h-h! He scratches his head in visible stupefaction. Then with reanimation:
human
I see. It was my error. _I_ was looking for middle distance, and _you_ had been working on the foreground. Very good; very-- Oh, gracious powers--No, no! Don't be discouraged, Miss Wyatt; remember it's the first time you've attempted anything of the sort, and you've really done very well. Here! He seizes the pencil and draws.
gpt
We will just sink these hay-stacks,--which are very good in their way, but not perhaps sufficiently subordinated,--just sink them into the lake yonder. They will serve very well for the reflections of those hills beyond, and now you can work away at some of the details of the foreground; they will interest you more. He retires a pace.
human
It's really not a bad start as it is.
gpt
But it's all yours, Mr. Bartlett.
human
Eh?
gpt
You drew every line in it.
human
No, you drew the line of the distant hills.
gpt
But I didn't mean it for that!
human
Well, well; but the lady's figure, that was good
gpt
You turned her into a clump of birches.
human
True. A mere exigency of the perspective. The hay-stacks
gpt
You've just sunk them into the lake!
human
Well, well. Perhaps I may have helped in the execution of the picture, a little. But my dear Miss Wyatt, the _drawing_ is nothing; it's the _design_ is what makes the picture, and that's _entirely_ yours; the ideas were all _yours_. Come! Try your hand now at the shore line of the lake, just here.
gpt
I'm afraid I'm a little tired. My hands are cold.
human
Oh, I'm sorry! He takes one of them and places it between either of his.
gpt
That shows you've been working too hard. I can't allow that. All the art in the world isn't worth--I mustn't forget that you have not been well; and I want these little lessons to be a pastime and not a burden to you. The picture's sufficiently advanced now --he mechanically puts her hand under his left arm, and keeps his own right hand upon it, while he takes his station with her in front of the easel--
human
I didn't mean to refuse the offer of your paints, but I thought it would be better to have the colours _perfectly fresh_, you know.
gpt
Quite right. Quite right. Now you see-- Rest on _me_, Miss Wyatt, or I shall be afraid of fatiguing you by standing; and I'd like to point out a few things for you to begin on here to-morrow.
human
Oh, I'm not _very_ tired. But I _will_ keep your arm if you will let me.
gpt
By all means. Now, here, at this point, I think I'd better sketch you in that old oak down there at the foot of our hill, with its grape-vine, and you can work away at these without reference to Ponkwasset. The line of that clinging vine is one of the most graceful things that Nature--and Nature _does_ know a thing or two, Miss Wyatt; she's particularly good at clinging vines--ever drew. He looks at her over his shoulder with an involuntary sigh. Then,
human
Suppose --he takes up the charcoal--
gpt
I do it now. No, don't disturb yourself. They lean forward, and as he sketches, their faces, drawn together, almost touch. Bartlett drops the pencil, and starts away, releasing his arm:
human
Oh, no, no!
gpt
Can't you do it?
human
No, no; I can't do it--I mustn't--it would be outrageous--I--I -- Regaining his self-possession at sight of Constance's astonished face:
gpt
You said yourself just now that I had drawn everything in the picture. I can't do any more. _You_ must do the clinging vine!
human
Very well, I'll try. If you'll do the oak for me. I'll let you do _that_ much more.