Joan walked to within a few
yards of the artist and waited for him to speak. But eye, hand, brain were
all working together on the sketch before him, and if he saw the visitor at
all, which was doubtful, he took no notice of her. Joan came a little
closer, and still John Barron ignored her presence. Then she grew
uncomfortable, and, feeling she must break the silence, spoke.
"I be come, sir, 'cordin' to what you said."
He added a touch and looked up with no recognition in his eyes. His
forehead frowned with doubt apparently, then he seemed to remember. "Ah,
the young woman who told me about the luggers." Suddenly he smiled at her,
the first time she had seen him do so.
"You never mentioned your name, I think?"
"Joan Tregenza, sir."
"I promised you a little picture of that big ship, didn't I?"
"You was that kind, sir."
"Well, I haven't forgotten it. I finished the picture this morning and I
think you may like it, but I had to leave it until to-morrow, because the
paints take so long to dry."
"I'm sure I thank you kindly, sir."
"No need. To-morrow it will be quite ready for you, with a frame and all
complete. You see I've begun to try and paint the gorse." He invited her by
a gesture to view his work. She came closer, and as she bent he glanced up
at her with his face for a moment close to hers. Then she drew back
quickly, blushing.
"'Tis butivul--just like them fuzzes.
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