f I were a rather
repulsive piece of wood."

Pete craned his neck, and met the suspicious eye of a guard.

"I don't think anything can be done about it at the moment," he said;
and added in explanation, "You see, I felt as if you had suddenly
deserted me."

"Pete, I couldn't ever desert you--unless I committed suicide."

Presently he stood up, declaring that this was not the fitting place for
arranging the details of their marriage.

"Come to one of the smaller picture galleries," he said, "and as we go
I'll show you a portrait of my mother."

"Your mother? I did not know she had had a portrait done. By whom?"

"A fellow called Bellini. He thought he was doing the Madonna."

When they reached the picture, a figure was already before it. Mr.
Lanley was sitting, with his arms folded and his feet stretched out far
before him, his head bent, but his eyes raised and fixed on the picture.
They saw him first, and had two or three seconds to take in the profound
contemplation of his mood. Then he slowly raised his eyes and
encountered theirs.

There is surely nothing compromising in an elderly gentleman spending a
contemplative morning alone at the Metropolitan Museum. It might well be
his daily custom; but the knowledge that it was not, the consciousness of
the rarity of the mood that had brought him there, oppressed Mr. Lanley
almost like a crime. He felt caught, outraged, ashamed as he saw them.
"That's the age which has a right to it," he said to himself. And then as
if in a mirror he saw an expression of embarrassment on their faces, and
was reminded that their meeting must have been illicit, too. He stood up
and looked at them sternly.

"Up-town at this hour, Wayne?" he said.

"Grandfather, I never knew you came here much," said Mathilde.

"It's near me, you know," he answered weakly, so weakly that he felt
impelled to give an explanation. "Sometimes, my dear," he said, "you will
find that even the most welcome guest rather fills the house."

"You need not worry about yours," returned Mathilde. "I left her
with Mama."

Mr. Lanley felt that his brief moment of peace was indeed over. He could
imagine the impressions that Mrs. Baxter was perhaps at that very moment
sharing with Adelaide. He longed to question his granddaughter, but did
not know how to put it.

"How was your mother looking?" he finally decided upon.

"Dreary," answered Mathilde, with a laugh.

"Does this picture remind you of any one?" as