fell into the trap at once; for Aunt Jane was far from being her model, though she could not help respecting her worth.
"Have you given up your painting?" she asked rather abruptly, turning to a gilded Fra Angelico angel which leaned in the sofa corner.
"Sweetest face I ever saw, and very like you about the eyes, isn't it?" said Charlie, who seemed to have a Yankee trick of replying to one question with another.
"I want an answer, not a compliment," and Rose tried to look severe, as she put away the picture more quickly than she took it up.
"Have I given up painting? Oh, no! I daub a little in oils, slop a little in water-colors, sketch now and then, and poke about the studios when the artistic fit comes on."
"How is the music?"
"More flourishing. I don't practise much, but sing a good deal in company. Set up a guitar last summer, and went troubadouring round in great style. The girls like it, and it's jolly among the fellows."
"Are you studying any thing?"
"Well, I have some law books on my table,—good, big, wise-looking chaps,—and I take a turn at them semi-occasionally, when pleasure palls or parents chide. But I doubt if I do more than learn what 'a allybi' is this year," and a sly laugh in Charlie's eye suggested that he sometimes availed himself of this bit of legal knowledge.
