"What is that?" Élise asked. "Another kind of book to make you tear up flowers?" Her voice was hard again.
"Perhaps you would like to see these. They may atone for my other wrong-doing."
Élise seated herself and received the sketches one by one as they were handed to her. Miss Hartwell had intended to make comments as necessity or opportunity seemed to demand; but Élise forestalled her.
"This is beautiful; only----" She paused.
"You've put those horrid names on each one of them. They make me think of the ones you tore to pieces."
Élise half drew them away, looking sharply at Miss Hartwell. Then her face softened, and she placed the sketches in her hand. One by one the offending names were removed.
Élise watched curiously, and her expression did not change with the reception of the sketches.
"But I think you were quite right. The names are not beautiful. The flowers are."
"That wouldn't make any difference with me. I'd get mad before I thought, and then I'd stick to it anyway."
Élise looked somewhat rebuked, but more puzzled.
This was too much. Miss Hartwell could not conceal her astonishment. She recovered quickly and answered, with a smile:
Élise resumed her examination of the water-colours. There was a look of satisfaction on her face.
"Oh, well, perhaps when I get to be as old as that I won't get mad, either. How did you learn to make flowers?" Her attention was fixed all the time on the colours.
"Not very, for some people. Would you like to have me teach you?"
"Certainly. It will give me great pleasure."
Miss Hartwell had taste, and she had been under excellent instruction. Her efforts had been praised and herself highly commended; but no sweeter incense had ever been burned under her nostrils than the intense absorption of her first pupil. It was not genius; it was love, pure and simple. There was no element of self-consciousness, only a wild love of beauty and a longing to give it expression. Nominally, at least, Miss Hartwell was the instructor and Élise the pupil; but that did not prevent her learning some lessons which her other instructors had failed to suggest. The comments of Élise on the habits and peculiarities of every plant and flower that they attempted demonstrated to Miss Hartwell that the real science of botany was not wholly dependent upon forceps and scalpel. Another demonstration was to the effect that the first and hardest step in drawing, if not in painting, was a clear-cut conception of the object to be delineated. Élise knew her object. From the first downy ball that pushed its way into the opening spring, to the unfolding of the perfect flower, every shade and variety of colour Élise knew to perfection.