He gave a gasp of relief when he beheld me, full of life, with my palette on my thumb, gazing fondly on my new canvas.
"That's right!" he said.

"I like to see you with your mind composed.
Annabella would have come with me; but she has a little headache this morning.

She sends her love and best wishes." I seized my chalks and began with that confidence in myself which has never forsaken me in any emergency.

Being perfectly well aware of the absolute dependence of the art of portrait-painting on the art of flattery, I determined to start with making the mere outline of my likeness a compliment to my sitter.
It was much easier to resolve on doing this than really to do it.

In the first place, my hand would relapse into its wicked old caricaturing habits.