e back, bidding me, at the same time, consign my
modesty to the winds, for everybody knew--by everybody, I presume he
meant his neighbours in the country--that I was the rising man of the
day, and would inevitably be elected President before I died. To avert
this flood of idiotic compliment, and feeling myself growing hot from
head to foot, I took him by the arm and conducted him hastily through
the room toward that portion of the building where my picture was
displayed.

Whether the work was good, bad, or indifferent, the public at least paid
me the compliment of bestowing their attention upon it, and their
behaviour on this occasion was no exception to the rule. I hope I shall
not be considered more conceited than my fellows; at the risk of it,
however, I must confess to a feeling of pride as I glanced, first at the
crowd wedged in before the rail, and then at the party by my side.
George Merridew's face alone was worth the trouble and time I had spent
upon the canvas. His eyes were opened to their fullest extent: his lips
were also parted, but no sound came from them. Even the face of my
formidable friend, the tennis champion, betrayed a measure of interest
that, in the light of her previous behaviour, was more than flattering.
For some moments we stood together on the outskirts of the throng. Then
those who were directly in front moved away, and my friends immediately
stepped into the gap and took their places. As there was no reason why I
should follow their example, I remained outside, watching the faces and
noting the different effects the picture produced upon them.

I had not been alone more than a few seconds, however, before I became
sensible of a curious sensation. It was accompanied by a lowering of the
pulse that was quite perceptible, followed by an extraordinary feeling
of nausea. I battled against it in vain. The room and its occupants
began to swim before me. I tottered, and at length, being unable any
longer to support myself, sat down on the seat behind me. When I looked
up again I could scarcely credit the evidence of my senses. Approaching
me from the crowd, leaning upon his stick, just as I remembered him on
the previous occasion, and dressed in the same extraordinary fashion,
was the old man whose personality had given me such a shock at the foot
of Cleopatra's Needle. His face was as thin and as wrinkled as I had
seen it then, and I also noticed that he wore the same indescribable
look of cruel