y looking at her, an encouraging hand of
recognition.

"Have you seen Delavar's picture?" he asked Minola.

"No. Who is Delavar?"

"Delavar? He _was_ the greatest painter of our time--at least of his
school; for I don't admit that his school is the true one."

"Oh, is his picture here?"

"In the other room--yes. He painted it for Mr. Money--for Mrs. Money
rather I should say--and it has just been sent home. Come with me and I
will show it to you."

"And Mary?"

"We'll come back for Mary presently. The rooms are too full. We
couldn't all get through. If you'll take my arm, Miss Grey!"

Minola rose and took his arm, and they made their way slowly through
the room. They moved even more slowly than was necessary, for Herbert
Blanchet was particularly anxious to show off his companion and himself
to the fullest advantage. The moment Minola entered the room he saw
that she was the handsomest girl there, and that her dressing was
simple, graceful, and picturesque. He knew that before a quarter of an
hour had passed everybody would be asking who she was, and he resolved
to secure for himself the effect of being the first to parade her
through the rooms. He was a singularly handsome man--as has been said
before--almost oppressively handsome; and a certain wasted look about
his eyes and cheeks added a new and striking effect to his appearance.
He was dark, she was fair; he was a tall man, she was a rather tall
girl; and if his face had a worn look, hers had an expression of
something like habitual melancholy, which was not perhaps in keeping
with her natural temperament, and which lent by force of contrast an
additional charm to her eyes when they suddenly lit up at the opening
of any manner of animated conversation. No combination could be more
effective, Mr. Blanchet felt, than that of his appearance and hers; and
then she was a new figure. So he passed slowly on with her, and he knew
that most people looked at them as they passed. He took good care, too,
that they should be engaged in earnest talk.

"I am delighted to have you all to myself for a moment, Miss Grey--to
tell you that I know all about your goodness to Mary. That is why I
would not bring her with us now. No--you must let me speak--I am not
offering you my thanks. I know you would not care about that. But I
must tell you that I know what you have done. I have no doubt that you
are her sole support--poor Mary!"

"I am her friend, Mr. Blanchet--only that