oticing the deep colour in her face, led on upstairs, down
the corridors, and into the first saloon. There he paused and old Iden
took the lead, going straight to a fine specimen of an old Master.

Holding his great grey hat (which he would not give up to the butler) at
arm's-length and pointing, the old man began to show Amaryllis the
beauties of the picture.

"A grand thing--look," said he.

"I can't see," said Amaryllis, forced to reply.

"Not see!" said Iden, in a doubtful tone.

"Not a good light, perhaps," said Raleigh. "Come this side."

She did not move.

"Go that side," said Iden.

No movement.

"Go that side," he repeated, sharply.

At last she moved over by Raleigh and stood there, gazing down still.

"Look up," said Iden. She looked up hastily--above the canvas, and then
again at the floor.

Iden's dim old eyes rested a moment on the pair as they stood together;
Amaryllis gazing downwards, Raleigh gazing at her. Thoughts of a
possible alliance, perhaps, passed through Iden's mind; only consider,
intermarriage between the Pamments and the Idens! Much more improbable
things have happened; even without the marriage license the connection
would be an immense honour.

Grandfather Iden, aged ninety years, would most certainly have
sacrificed the girl of sixteen, his own flesh and blood, joyously and
intentionally to his worship of the aristocrat.

If she could not have been the wife he would have forced her to be the
mistress.

There is no one so cruel--so utterly inhuman--as an old man, to whom
feeling, heart, hope have long been dead words.

"Now you can see," he said, softly and kindly. "Is it not noble?"

"It looks smoky," said Amaryllis, lifting her large, dark eyes at last
and looking her grandfather in the face.

"Smoky!" he ejaculated, dropping his great white hat, his sunken cheeks
flushing. It was not so much the remark as the tone of contemptuous
rebellion.

"Smoky," he repeated.

"Smoky and--dingy," said Amaryllis. She had felt without actually seeing
that Raleigh's gaze had been fixed upon her the whole time since they
had entered, that emphatic look which so pleases or so offends a woman.

Now there was nothing in Raleigh's manner to give offence--on the
contrary he had been singularly pleasant, respectfully pleasant--but she
remembered the fellow staring at her from the window at the "Lamb" and
it biased her against him. She wished to treat him, and his pictures,
and his