"Don't you think it is beautiful, Rupert?" Dolly pursued, curious to
know what went on in his thoughts.

"I've seen as handsome faces--and handsomer," he said slowly; "and I
like flesh and blood a long sight better than a painting, anyhow."

"Handsome?" said Dolly. "Oh, it is not _that_--it is so much more!"----

"What is it, Miss Dolly?" said Lawrence, just then coming up behind
her. "I should like to hear your criticism. Do put it in words."

"That's not easy; and it is not criticism. But I'll tell you how it
seems to me; as the painting, not of anybody's features, but of
somebody's nature, spirit. It is a painting of the spiritual character."

"Mental traits can be expressed in words, though," said Lawrence.
"You'll go on, I hope?"

"I cannot," said Dolly. "It is not the lovely face, Mr. Babbage; it is
thought and feeling, love and purity, and majesty--but the majesty of a
person who has no thought of herself."

Dolly could not get out of that one room; she sat before the Raphael,
and then stood fixed before the "Notte" or the "Magdalene" of
Correggio; and would not come away. Rupert always attended on her, and
Mrs. Copley as regularly made progresses through the rooms on
Lawrence's arm, till she declared herself tired out. They were much
beholden to Lawrence and his good offices these days, more than they
knew; for it was past the season when the gallery was open to the
public, and entrance was obtained solely by the influence of St.
Leger's mediation and money; how much of the latter they never knew.
Lawrence was a very good escort also; his address was pleasant, and his
knowledge of men and things sufficient for useful purposes; he knew in
general what was what and who was who, and was never at a loss. Rupert
followed the party like a faithful dog, ready for service and with no
opportunity to show it; Lawrence held the post of leader and manager
now, and filled it well. In matters of art, however, I am bound to say,
though he could talk more, he knew as little as Rupert himself.

"What is to be done to-morrow?" he asked, in the evening of that second
day.

"We haven't got our letters yet," said Mrs. Copley. "I can't see why
they don't come."

"So the Green vaults must wait. What else shall we do?"

"Oh," said Dolly, "might we not go to the gallery again?"

"Another day?" cried her mother. "Why, you have been there two whole
mornings, child. Ain't that enough?"

"Mother, I could go two months, I thi