e door--the edge of a curtain; for the object which this curtain
conceals, is not visible from the chair in which he sits.

Verty rises, and goes into the recess, and looks.

The curtain falls over a picture--Verty raises it, and stands in
admiration before the portrait, which it covered.

"What a lovely child!" he exclaims. "I have never seen a prettier
little girl in all my life! What beautiful hair she has!"

And Verty, with the curtain in his left hand, blows away the dust from
the canvas.

The portrait is indeed exquisite. The picture represents a child of
two or three years of age, of rare and surpassing beauty. Over its
white brow hang long yellow ringlets--the eyes dance and play--the
ripe, ruddy lips, resembling cherries, are wreathed with the careless
laughter of infancy. The child wears a little blue frock which permits
two round, fat arms to be seen; and one of the hands grasps a doll,
drawn to the life. There is so much freshness and reality about the
picture, that Verty exclaims a second time, "What a lovely little
girl!"

Thus absorbed in the picture, he does not hear a growling voice in the
adjoining room--is not conscious of the heavy step advancing toward
the room he occupies--does not even hear the door open as the new
comer enters.

"Who can she be!" murmurs the young man; "not Mr. Rushton's little
daughter--I never heard that he was married, or had any children.
Pretty little thing!"

And Verty smiled.

Suddenly a heavy hand was laid upon his shoulder, and a gruff, stern
voice said:

"What are you doing, sir?"

Verty turned quickly; Mr. Rushton stood before him--gloomy,
forbidding, with a heavy frown upon his brow.

"What are you prying into?" repeated the lawyer, angrily; "are you not
aware, sir, that this is my private apartment? What has induced you to
presume in such a manner?"

Verty was almost terrified by the sternness of these cold words, and
looked down. Then conscious of the innocence of his action, raised his
eyes, and said:

"I came in to give you the copy of the deed, sir,--and saw the
curtain--and thought I would--"

"Pry into my secrets," said Mr. Rushton; "very well, sir!"

"I did not mean to pry," said Verty, proudly; "I did not think there
was any harm in such a little thing. I hope, sir, you will not think
I meant anything wrong," added Verty--"indeed I did not; and I only
thought this was some common picture, with a curtain over it to keep
off the dust."