He was busily opening his port-folio and turning over the drawings, and stepped closer to her, as he said: "There! now, what is that ?" and he handed her a sketch.
Hope looked at it and smiled.
"That is the farther shore of the pond with the spire; how very pretty it is!" "And this ?" "Oh! that is the old church, and there is Mr.Gray's face at the window.
How good they are! You draw very well, Mr.Newt." "Do you draw, Miss Wayne ?" "I've had plenty of lessons," replied Hope, smiling; "but I can't draw from nature very well." "What do you sketch, then ?" "Well, scenes and figures out of books." "How very pleasant that must be! That's a better style than mine." "Why so ?" "Because we can never draw any thing as handsome as it seems to us.

You can go and see the pond with your own eyes, and then no picture will seem worth having." He paused.

"There is another reason, too, I suppose." "What is that ?" asked Hope, looking at her companion.
"Well," he answered, smiling, "because life in books is always so much better than real life!" "Is it so ?" said Hope, musingly.
"Yes, certainly.

People are always brave, and beautiful, and good, in books.

An author may make them do and say just what he and all the world want them to, and it all seems right.