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She looked at me. “Whatever I’m told to draw,” she said.

I felt my heart sink.

“Told? Who tells you?”

“She means she likes to draw what people like to see. My father used to ask her to draw birds in trees.”

“Oh, I see. Well, we’ll start with going over colors and then learning perspective. How’s that sound?”

“I want to draw and paint,” she said.

“That’s what he means, Sylvia.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get her to understand,” he told me, chewing on his biscuit. “I spent years in the grade school before teaching junior and senior high. Say, this is a very good biscuit. Homemade?”

“Sylvia made them,” I said.

“Did she? Well, if you can make biscuits this good, you can paint the Mona Lisa.”

“Who’s that?” she asked.

“Oh, it’s a famous painting. I’ll bring a book that has many great paintings in it so you can see all the styles in which artists have worked.”

“We have art books, Mr. Price. Sylvia wants to be active. Art history is a little beyond our goals here. How often do you want to give her lessons?” I asked. “And when?”

“I can be here in the afternoon.” He leaned toward me. “Probably only an hour at first. I know about attention span,” he assured me, nodding. “Say, three times a week?”

“Would you like that, Sylvia? Three times a week?”

“I want to do art every day,” she said.

He smiled. “Oh, you’ll have homework to do every day,” he said.

She looked suspicious but then nodded.

“Why don’t we look at your studio and see what you have, and then I’ll make a list of things you’ll need,” Mr. Price said. He thought for a moment and then plucked another biscuit off the dish. “Let’s keep this a secret.” He winked at me.

Sylvia’s eyes widened instantly. “Secret?”

“He means he doesn’t want his wife to know he’s eating what she doesn’t want him to eat, Sylvia. You won’t tell her, will you?” I said, trying to insert a joke quickly.

She shook her head. “Is she coming today, too?”

“No.”

Mr. Price sipped his tea. Sylvia hadn’t poured herself a cup or taken a biscuit. She had yet to sit.

“Let’s go show Mr. Price your studio, okay?”

“Okay,” she said, and he and I stood up. I nodded at Sylvia for her to go first, and we followed.

“My sister tends to take everything said to her literally,” I warned.

“I understand.”

We started up behind her. “She has a little bit of a wild imagination,” I added, with the same cautionary tone.

“All artists need that,” he replied.