never minces 'im for
sossingers, 'e's so 'ily in 'is flavour." Well, sir, to cut a long
story short, I agrees to take my pootty darter to the Quaker gent's
studero; an' I takes 'er nex' day, an' 'e puts her in a pictur. But
afore long,' continued the old woman, leering round at Cyril, 'lo!
and behold, a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise (I don't
want to be pussonal, an' so I sha'n't tell his name), 'e comes into
that studero one day when I was a-settlin' up with the Quaker gent
for the week's pay, an' he sets an' admires me, till I sets an'
blushes as I'm a-blushin' at this werry moment; an' when I gits 'ome,
I sez to Polly Onion (that's a pal o' mine as lives on the ground
floor), I sez, "Poll, bring my best lookin'-glass out o' my bowdore,
an' let's have a look at my old chops, for I'm blowed if there ain't
a young swell, p'raps a young lord in disguise, as 'ez fell 'ead over
ears in love with me." And sure enough when I goes back to the
studero the werry nex' time, my young swell 'e sez to me, "It's your
own pootty face as I wants for _my_ moral. I dessay your darter's a
stunner--I ain't seen her yit--but she cain't be nothin' to you." And
I sez to 'im, "In course she ain't, for she takes arter her father's
family, pore gal, and werry sorry she is for it."'

At this moment a servant entered and said Mr. Wilderspin was waiting
in the hall.

All hope having now fled of my getting a private word
with Cyril that afternoon, I was preparing to slip I away; but he
would not let me go.

'I don't want Wilderspin to know about the caricature till it is
finished,' whispered he to me; 'so I told Bunner never to let him
come suddenly upon me. You'd better be off, mother,' he said to the
old woman, 'and come again to-morrow.'

She bustled up and, throwing off the Japanese finery, left the room,
while Cyril removed the drawing from the easel and hid it away.

'Isn't she delightful?' ejaculated Cyril.

'Delightful! What, that old wretch? All that interests me in her is
the change in her voice after she says she will die laughing.'

'Oh,' said Cyril, 'she seems to be troubled with a drunken son in the
country somewhere, who is always getting into scrapes. Wilderspin's
in love with her daughter, a wonderfully beautiful girl, the finding
of whom at the very moment when he was in despair for the want of the
right model gave the final turn to his head. He thinks she was sent
to him from Paradise by his mother's spir