chair, and announced the sitting at an end. It
had lasted about twenty-five minutes. To Polly-
my-Lamb it had seemed as many hours.

That evening's declining sun caught Mistress
Ascroft popping over—albeit uninvited—to tea.
It had proved impossible for her gossip-soul to
carry, of itself, the burden of " that day's great
business"—the first appearance and sitting—or
fidgeting—of Inez.

It turned out that her name was not Inez at
all. That was our conjecture only. She was
called the Señora Theresa Felicia Torre-Diaz.

Of all the lovely creatures that had come
across Mistress Ascroft—and they was a many
—the Señora Torre-Diaz was the beautifullest,
by a handful. Though haughty as a queen, she
was lively as a kitten. Nobody knew whether to
adore or to hate her. Some does both. As for
Master Arthur, he was just mad. What had
occasioned the sudden change, she, Mistress
Ascroft, could not divine: but, leastwise since
Friday week, the Señora Torre-Diaz was everything,
and more, to that young man. He talked and
thought of nothing else. He worked at the great
picture hour after hour, sometimes far into the
night; and when, once, Mistress Ascroft, out of
all patience, walked steadily into the room and
blew out his candles, so frightened her, by
painting frantically on in the dark, that the good
lady ran down stairs, and never interfered again.

Finally, it was understood that the picture
was to be finished eight days from thence, and
delivered over to the Señor Antonio Torre-Diaz,
the señora' s uncle, in consideration of as many
Portugal crowns as would defray the cost of a
journey to Newfoundland, in Holland, a journey
upon which Master Haggerdorn would set forth
on the day succeeding the bargain and sale;
while the señor and señora would follow, some
months hence, in a ship entirely the señor's own,
likewise bound for Newfoundland, in Holland.

Such, at all events, was the form in which the
tidings reached Miss Polly, as she prepared her
weary little head for the pillow. Whether it lay
quietly there, I am not bound to say. Surely it
is sufficiently irritating, without entering into
details, to be obliged to confess one's heroine a
woman, a creature of hope and fear, passion and
pride, love and jealousy.

Every day, the work went bravely on. Did
Polly see it? Of course she did. There was
no resisting the fascination. No doubt, she
ought to have done anything else in the wide
world—fled into Shropshire, bricked up her
windows, fallen sick, made vows, and tried to
keep them. Anything (almost) would have
better become a well-educated young lady, with
feelings properly blunted, and the teeth of
sentiment duly drawn, than wandering restlessly
to and fro, hiding, as though from very self, in
the darkness of some inner room, creeping half-
guiltily back into an outer; glancing fearfully
forth; bursting into bitter tears; stamping her
small foot. O, Polly, Polly, who do you think
will care for any young lady who yields herself
up to an anguish so excessively ill-bred as—as—I
am almost ashamed to speak it, jealousy? At
first, indeed, I was disposed to regard your fault
with some indulgence, but this is wilful obstin——
Don't talk to me of feelings, miss! I am speaking
of polite breeding and the exigencies of good
society, with which "feeling" has no manner of
concern. Very fortunate it is, Miss Humpage,
that we are alone, and that you can rely upon my
secresy.

The Señora Torre-Diaz had been more docile
of late—behaving, in fact, like the best of sitters
—the play of her superb features, plainly visible
in the strong light, as she sat nearly facing the
window, alone proving the restraint she put
upon herself.

As touching the Señor Torre-Diaz, that noble
cavalier apparently regarded Mr. Haggerdorn's
studio in the light of a dormitory. Sometimes
he smoked; at others, he didn't; but whether he
smoked, or didn't smoke, three minutes seldom
elapsed before the señor's spirit departed from
Jermyn-street into the land of dreams.

It was within one day of the allotted time, when
poor Polly, lying wearily on the sofa, with a
book in her hand, but eyes ever straying from
the page, saw the black velvet body suddenly
fling palette one way, brush the other, and clasp
its hands as in a violent ebullition of feeling!
Apparently, the beautiful sitter caught the
infection. Leaping lightly from her seat, she
motioned both the artist and the awakened señor
impatiently aside, and, standing before the
picture, expressed by every graceful child-like
gesture the utmost delight.

It was clear the work was finished, and
triumphantly. Well might the Señora Theresa
exult. But where was the need of displaying
that glorious face at the window, as if in
contemptuous pity of the little rival she could not
see? Pressing her pale face down upon the
sofa cushions, Polly groaned.

News, in effect, did reach number twenty-
seven that evening, importing that the picture
was completed, the money paid, and the work of
packing begun. For, on the next day but one,
would sail the ship Good Adventure for Helvoetsluys,
and, not to lose passage, the young artist
must leave for Harwich early on the morrow.

Aunt Serocold was Polly's companion the
whole of that evening, and the latter, spite of a
sort of dull fire that seemed burning at her heart,
could not but feel grateful for the kind solicitude
with which her friend essayed to win her from
herself. But to converse freely was an impossibility
and Polly was not sorry when kissingtime
arrived, and set each lady free to retire to
her apartment, and indulge in her respective
train of meditation.

Before withdrawing, Miss Humpage looked
out to see if the stars were shining. There was
husbandry in heaven. At all events, none of its
silver candles were distinguishable through the
tawny, towny atmosphere; but there were, in
revenge, certain coruscations on the opposite