rred to think that wherever she went she
brought happiness with her. He had known her sad, but never melancholy,
for she was never without a smile even when she was melancholy.

Awakening from his reverie he drew his chair closer to Arthur's, and,
with a certain parade of interest, asked him if he had been to the
Academy.

'Did you see anything, Arthur, that in design approached your picture of
_Julius Caesar Overturning the Altars of the Druids_?'

'There were some beautiful bits of painting there,' replied Arthur,
whose modesty forbade him to answer the question directly. 'I saw some
lovely landscapes, and there were some babies' frocks,' he added
satirically. 'In one of these pictures I saw a rattle painted to
perfection.'

'Ah, yes, yes! You don't like the pettiness of family feeling dragged
into art; but if you only condescend to take a little more notice of the
craft--the craft is, after all--'

'I am carried along too rapidly by my feelings. I feel that I must get
my idea on canvas. But when I was in London I saw such a lovely
woman--one of the most exquisite creatures possible to imagine! Oh, so
sweet, and so feminine! I have it all in my head. I shall do something
like her to-morrow.'

Here he began to sketch with his stick in the dust, and from his face it
might be judged he was satisfied with the invisible result. At last he
said:

'You needn't say anything about it, but she sent me some songs, with
accompaniments written for the guitar. You shall hear some of the songs
to-night. . . . Ah, there is the dinner-bell!'

Olive was placed next to Milord, and the compliments paid to her by the
old courtier delighted her. She pretended to understand when he said:
'_La femme est comme une ombre: si vous la suives, elle vous fuit; si
vous fuyez, elle vous poursuit_.' A little later the champagne she had
drunk set her laughing hysterically, and she begged him to translate (he
had just whispered to her mother, '_L'amour est la conscience du plaisir
donne et recu, la certitude de donner et de recevoir_'); and he would
have complied with her request, but Mrs. Barton forbade him. Alice, who
had understood, found herself obliged to say that she had not
understood, which little fib begot a little annoyance in her against her
mother; and Milord, as if he thought that he had been guilty of a slight
indiscretion, said, addressing himself to both girls: '_Gardez bien vos
illusions, mon enfant, car les illusions sont le