nly. If that is uncivil, you have brought
it on yourself. But I do not in truth mean anything derogatory to the
painters of the day. When their pictures are old, they,--that is the
good ones among them,--will be nice also."

"Pictures are like wine, and want age, you think?"

"Yes, and statues too, and buildings above all things. The colours
of new paintings are so glaring, and the faces are so bright and
self-conscious, that they look to me when I go to the exhibition like
coloured prints in a child's new picture-book. It is the same thing
with buildings. One sees all the points, and nothing is left to the
imagination."

"I find I have come across a real critic."

"I hope so; at any rate, I am not a sham one;" and Miss Van Siever as
she said this looked very savage.

"I shouldn't take you to be a sham in anything."

"Ah, that would be saying a great deal for myself. Who can undertake
to say that he is not a sham in anything?"

As she said this the ladies were getting up. So Miss Van Siever also
got up, and left Mr. Conway Dalrymple to consider whether he could
say or could think of himself that he was not a sham in anything.
As regarded Miss Clara Van Siever, he began to think that he could
not object to paint her portrait, even though there might be no
sugar-plum. He would certainly do it as Jael; and he would, if he
dared, insert dimly in the background some idea of the face of
the mother, half-appearing, half-vanishing, as the spirit of the
sacrifice. He was composing the picture, while Mr. Dobbs Broughton was
arranging himself and his bottles.

"Musselboro," he said, "I'll come up between you and Crosbie. Mr
Eames, though I run away from you, the claret shall remain; or,
rather, it shall flow backwards and forwards as rapidly as you will."

"I'll keep it moving," said Johnny.

"Do; there's a good fellow. It's a nice glass of wine, isn't it? Old
Ramsby, who keeps as good a stock of the stuff as any wine-merchant
in London, gave me a hint, three or four years ago, that he'd a lot
of tidy Bordeaux. It's '41, you know. He had ninety dozen, and I took
it all."

"What was the figure, Broughton?" said Crosbie, asking the question
which he knew was expected.

"Well, I only gave one hundred and four for it then; it's worth a
hundred and twenty now. I wouldn't sell a bottle of it for any money.
Come, Dalrymple, pass it round; but fill your glass first."

"Thank you, no; I don't like it. I'll drink sherry."