and a seat on the sofa, for,
at the opening of this chapter my heroine is exactly in that position,
`in maiden meditation, fancy free.'"

CHAPTER SEVEN.

Lady R--sat down before her writing materials, and I took my seat on the
sofa, as she had requested, and was soon occupied with my reading. I
perceived that, as she wrote, her ladyship continually took her eyes off
her paper, and fixed them upon me. I presumed that she was describing
me, and I was correct in my idea, for, in about half-an-hour, she threw
down her pen, and cried:

"There, I am indebted to you for the best picture of a heroine that I
ever drew! Listen."

And her ladyship read to me a most flattering description of my sweet
person, couched in very high-flown language.

"I think, Lady R--," said I, when she had finished, "that you are more
indebted to your own imagination than to reality in drawing my
portrait."

"Not so, not so, my dear Valerie. I may have done you justice, but
certainly not more. There is nothing like having the living subject to
write from. It is the same as painting or drawing, it only can be true
when drawn from nature; in fact, what is writing but painting with the
pen?"

As she concluded her sentence, the page, Lionel, came in with a letter
on a waiter, and hearing her observation, as he handed the letter, he
impudently observed:

"Here's somebody been painting your name on the outside of this paper;
and as there's 7 pence to pay, I think it's rather dear for such a
smudge."

"You must not judge from outside appearance, Lionel," replied Lady R--:
"the contents may be worth pounds. It is not prepossessing, I grant, in
its superscription, but may, like the toad, ugly and venomous, wear a
precious jewel in its head. That was a vulgar error of former days,
Lionel, which Shakespeare has taken advantage of."

"Yes, that chap painted with a pen at a fine rate," replied the boy, as
Lady R--opened the letter and read it.

"You may go, Lionel," said she, putting the letter down.

"I just wanted to know, now that you've opened your toad, if you have
found the jewel, or whether it's a vulgar error?"

"It's a vulgar letter, at all events, Lionel," replied her ladyship,
"and concerns you; it is from the shoemaker at Brighton, who requests me
to pay him eighteen shillings for a pair of boots ordered by you, and
not paid for."

"Well, my lady, I do owe for the boots, true enough; but it's impossible
for me always to