He asked her, once, when they had finished for the day, how it was that she knew so well how the work was progressing, when she could not see the picture.
She laughed merrily.

"But I can see _you_; and I"-- she hesitated with that trick, that he was learning to know so well, of searching for a word--"I just _feel_ what you are feeling.

I suppose it's because my music is that way.

Sometimes, it simply won't come right, at all, and I feel as though I never _could_ do it.

Then, again, it seems to do itself; and I listen and wonder--just as if I had nothing to do with it." So that day came when the artist, drawing slowly back from his easel, stood so long gazing at his picture without touching it that the girl called to him, "What's the matter?
Won't it come right ?" Slowly he laid aside his palette and brushes.