eading letters--"ah--this is the
one I wanted you to see, Lady Gore----"

"Oh! yes, I see," said Lady Gore, mendaciously as to the spirit, if not
to the letter, for she certainly did not see in the negative held up by
Miss Tarlton, which appeared to the untutored mind a square piece of
grey dirty glass with confused black smudges on it, all that Miss
Tarlton wished her to behold there. Then she became aware of a welcome
interruption.

"How do you do, Mr. Wentworth?" she said, putting down the photograph
with inward relief, as a tall young man with a fair moustache and merry
blue eyes came into the room.

"Photographs?" he said, after exchanging greetings with his host and
hostess, nodding to Rendel and bowing to Rachel.

"Yes," said Lady Gore. "Now you shall give your opinion."

"I shall be delighted," he said. "I have got heaps of opinions."

"Do you photograph?" said Miss Tarlton, with a spark of renewed hope.

"I am sorry to say I don't," answered Wentworth. "I believe it is a
charming pursuit."

"It is an inexhaustible pleasure," said Miss Tarlton, with conviction.

"I congratulate you," said Wentworth, "on possessing it."

"Yes," said Miss Tarlton solemnly, "I lead an extremely happy life. I
take out my camera every day on my bicycle, and I photograph. When I get
home I develop the photographs. I spend hours in my dark room."

"It is indeed a happy temperament," said Wentworth, "that can find
pleasure in spending hours in a dark room."

"Have you ever tried it?" said Miss Tarlton.

"Certainly," said Wentworth. "In London in the winter, when it is foggy,
you know."

"Oh," said Miss Tarlton, again with unflinching gravity. "I don't think
you quite understand what I mean. I mean in a photographic dark room,
developing, you know."

"I see," said Wentworth. "When I am in a dark room in the winter I
generally develop theories."

"Develop what?" said Miss Tarlton.

"Theories, about smuts and smoke, you know; things people write to the
papers about in the winter," said Wentworth, whose idea of conversation
was to endeavour to coruscate the whole time. It is not to be wondered
at, therefore, if the spark was less powerful on some occasions than on
others.

"Oh," said Miss Tarlton, not in the least entertained.

Wentworth, a little discomfited, could for once think of nothing to say.

"I suppose," said Miss Tarlton, still patiently pursuing her
investigations in the same hopeless quarter, "you don't