all his friends among the ladies, by saluting them from afar off with
tremulous bows and gallant kissings of the hand.

"Ah!" thought Mrs. Blyth, nodding, to show that she understood the
signs--"Ah! there's father. I felt sure he would be the first; and
I know exactly what he will do when he gets in. He will admire the
pictures more than anybody, and have a better opinion to give of
them than anybody else has; but before he can mention a word of it to
Valentine, there will be dozens of people in the painting-room, and then
he will get taken suddenly nervous, and come up here to me."

While Mrs. Blyth was thinking about her father, Madonna signalized the
advent of two more visitors. First, she raised her hand sharply, and
began pulling at an imaginary whisker on her own smooth cheek--then
stood bolt upright, and folded her arms majestically over her bosom.
Mrs. Blyth immediately recognized the originals of these two pantomime
portrait-sketches. The one represented Mr. Hemlock, the small critic of
a small newspaper, who was principally remarkable for never letting
his whiskers alone for five minutes together. The other portrayed Mr.
Bullivant, the aspiring fair-haired sculptor, who wrote poetry, and
studied dignity in his attitudes so unremittingly, that he could not
even stop to look in at a shop-window, without standing before it as if
he was his own statue.

In a minute or two more, Mrs. Blyth heard a prodigious grating of
wheels, and trampling of horses, and banging of carriage-steps violently
let down. Madonna immediately took a seat on the nearest chair, rolled
the skirt of her dress up into her lap, tucked both her hands inside it,
then drew one out, and imitated the action of snuff-taking--looking up
merrily at Mrs. Blyth, as much as to say, "You can't mistake that, I
think?"--Impossible! old Lady Brambledown, with her muff and snuff-box,
to the very life.

Close on the Dowager Countess followed a visitor of low degree.
Madonna--looking as if she was a little afraid of the boldness of
her own imitation--began chewing an imaginary quid of tobacco; then
pretended to pull it suddenly out of his month, and throw it away behind
her. It was all over in a moment; but it represented to perfection
Mangles, the gardener; who, though an inveterate chewer of tobacco,
always threw away his quid whenever he confronted his betters, as a duty
that he owed to his own respectability.

Another carriage. Madonna put on a suppo