said Mr. Trefalden, as deferentially as if this
fragile young creature were a stately princess,
clad in cloth of gold and silver.

"Oh no, thank you," she replied, tremulously.
"We shall be very glad to—- to sell them."

"Then I have your permission to look at
these?"

"I will show them to you."

But Mr. Trefalden would not suffer Miss
Rivière to show him the pictures. They were
too heavy, and too dusty; and he was so glad
to have the opportunity of seeing them, that he
considered nothing a trouble. Then he begged
to be allowed to remove the black blind from
the window; and when that was done,
he dragged out the first picture, dusted
it carefully with his own white handkerchief,
and placed it in the best light the room
afforded.

"That was one of his last," said the daughter,
with a sigh.

It represented Apollo and Daphne—- Apollo
in an attitude expressive of despair, looking
very like a fine gentleman in an amateur play,
elegantly got up in the Greek style, and rather
proud of his legs; with Daphne peeping at him
coquettishly from the leaves of a laurel-bush.
It was not a vulgar picture, nor even a glaringly
bad picture; but it had all the worst faults of
the French school with none of its vigour,
and was academic and superficial to the last
degree.

Mr. Trefalden, who saw all this distinctly,
retreated, nevertheless, to the further side of
the room, shaded his eyes with his hands, and
declared that it was an exquisite thing, full of
poetry and classical feeling.

Then came a Cupid and Psyche on the point
of leading off a pas de deux; a Danæ in a
cataract of yellow ochre; an Endymion sleeping,
evidently, on a stage-bank, by the light of a
practicable moon; a Holy Family; a Cephalus and
Procris; a Caractacus before Claudius; a Diana
and Calisto, and about a score of others——
enough to fill a gallery of moderate size; all
after the same pattern; all repeating the same
dreary round of hackneyed subjects; all equally
correct and mediocre.

Mr. Trefalden looked patiently through the
whole collection, opening out those canvases
which were rolled up, and going through the
business of his part with a naturalness that was
beyond all praise. He dwelt on imaginary
beauties, hesitated over trifling blemishes,
reverted every now and then to his favourites, and,
in short, played the enlightened connoisseur to
such perfection that the poor child by his side
was almost ready to fall down and worship him
before the exhibition was over.

"How happy it would have made him to hear
you, sir," she said, more than once. " No one
ever appreciated his genius as you do!"

To which Mr. Trefalden only replied with
sympathetic courtesy, that he was " sorry to
hear it."

Finally, he selected four of the least
objectionable of the lot, and begged to know on
what terms he might be permitted to possess
them.

This question was referred by Miss Rivière to
her mother, and Mr. Trefalden was finally
entreated to name his own price.

"Nay, but you place me in a very difficult
position," said he. " What if I offer too small a
sum?"

"We do not fear that," replied the young girl,
with a timid smile.

"You are very good; but . . . the fact is
that I may wish to purchase several more of
these paintings——perhaps the whole of them, if
Mrs. Rivière should be willing to part from
them."

"The whole of them!" she echoed,
breathlessly.

"I cannot tell at present; but it is not
improbable."

Miss Rivière looked at Mr. Trefalden with
awe and wonder. She began to think he must
be some great collector—- perhaps Rothschild
himself!

"In the mean while," said he, " these being
only my first acquisitions, I must keep my
expenditure within a moderate limit. I should
not like to offer more than two hundred pounds
for these four paintings."

Two hundred pounds! It was as if a tributary
of Pactolus had suddenly flowed in upon that
humble front parlour and flooded it with gold.
Miss Rivière could hardly believe in the
actual existence of so fabulous a sum.

"I hope I do not seem to under-estimate their
value," said the lawyer.

"Oh no——indeed!"

"You will, perhaps, submit my proposition to
Mrs. Rivière?"

"No, thank you—- I—- I am quite sure—- your
great liberality. ..."

"I beg you will call it by no such name,"
said Mr. Trefalden, with that little deprecatory
gesture that showed his fine hand to so much
advantage. " Say, if you please, my sense of
justice, or, better still, my appreciation of
excellence."

Here he took a little roll of bank-notes from
his pocket-book, folded, and laid them on the
table.

"I trust I may be permitted to pay my
respects to Mrs. Rivière when I next call," he
said. " She will not, perhaps, refuse the favour
of an interview to one who knew her husband
in his youth."

"I am sure mamma will be most happy,"
faltered Miss Rivière. " She is very delicate;
but I know she will make the effort, if possible.
We—- we are going back soon to Italy."

And her eyes, as she said this, wandered
involuntarily towards the packet of notes.

"Not very soon, I hope? Not immediately?"

"Certainly not immediately," she replied,
with a sigh. " Mamma must be much better
before she can travel."

Then Mr. Trefalden made a few politely
sympathetic inquiries; recommended a famous
West-end physician; suggested a temporary