I detected the conviction that, if the portrait was to be
painted, it was due to the world that it should be well painted;
the subject must give the artist full opportunities.
"What does she know about me?" he asked, in meditative tones.
"She's very quick; she'll soon pick up as much as she wants," I
assured him.
"She'll probably go all wrong," he said somberly; and of course I
could not tell him that it was of no consequence if she did. He
would not have believed me, and would have done precisely what he
proceeded to do, and that was to afford Miss Liston every chance
of appraising his character and plumbing the depths of his soul.
I may say at once that I did not regret this course of action;
for the effect of it was to allow me a chance of talking to
Pamela Myles, and Pamela was exactly the sort of girl to beguile
the long, pleasant morning hours of a holiday in the country. No
one had told Pamela that she was going to be put in a book, and I
don't think it would have made any difference had she been told.
Pamela's attitude toward books was one of healthy scorn,
confidently based on admitted ignorance. So we never spoke of
them, and my cousin Dora condoled with me more than once on the
way in which Miss Liston, false to the implied terms of her
invitation, deserted me in favor of Sir Gilbert, and left me to
the mercies of a frivolous girl. Pamela appeared to be as little
aggrieved as I was.
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