nt, and vastly preferable to the
uninteresting aquilines which adorned the countenances of her mother
and brother. A provoking, childish, charming face, when all was
said; it was not wonderful that Lightmark would fain put it upon
canvas. And, indeed, so far as the young girl herself was concerned,
he had already a conditional promise. She had no objection whatever
to make, provided that Charles was first consulted; only she had no
dress that would meet the occasion. And when Lightmark protested
that the airy white garment, with here and there a suggestion of
cream-coloured lace and sulphur ribbons, which she was wearing, was
entirely right, she scouted the idea with scorn.

"This old frock, Mr. Lightmark," she exclaimed, with a pretty
display of disdain for his taste, "why, I've worn the old thing for
months! No; if Charles says I may have my portrait painted, I shall
go straight off to Madame Sophie, and then you may paint me and send
me to the Academy or Grosvenor in all my glory."

Lightmark had found it quite useless to protest, well as he knew
that the ordinary French milliner can be warranted to succeed in
producing a garment almost as unpaintable as a masculine black
frock-coat.

On the afternoon of the day after Rainham's return to the dock,
Lightmark was caressing his fair moustache upon the doorstep of the
Sylvesters' house, No. 137, Park Street, West, a mansion of
unpretending size, glorious in its summer coat of white paint,
relieved only by the turquoise-blue tiles which surrounded the
window-boxes, and the darker blue of the railings and front-door. He
was calling ostensibly for the purpose of inquiring how Charles
Sylvester liked the frame which he had selected for the
recently-finished portrait; really in order to induce her brother to
allow Eve to sit to him. Sounds as of discussion floated down the
wide staircase; and when the servant opened the drawing-room door
preparatory to announcing him, Lightmark heard--and it startled
him--a well-remembered voice upraised in playful protest.

"No, 'pon my word, Mrs. Sylvester, my young scamp of a nephew hasn't
done you justice, 'pon my soul he hasn't."

At first he felt almost inclined to turn tail; though he had long
been aware that the Sylvesters were cognisant of his relationship to
the somewhat notorious old Colonel, and that they knew him, as
everyone did, he had never contemplated the possibility of meeting
his uncle there.

And when he had shak