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 "No, thank you, it looks rather sticky."

"It is; mahl-sticky. Thank you for smiling at that."

"I didn't smile," she denied.

"To be truthful, you didn't; but I thought you were going to, so I thanked you in advance."

"And what, pray, are you—going to do with them?"

She indicated the easel and its accompanying articles.

"Paint," answered Miles, cheerfully. "You know you said you wouldn't object, if I were a painter, to my coming here."

"But you're not a painter; you're just pretending!"

"Miss Lynde! Is that fair, is it generous? Because I am not a finished artist like you, is it kind to throw my—my mediocrity in my face?