ographic portraits
of all the American celebrities--presidents, statesmen, authors,
actors, and artists.

Mr. Parmalee watched her from under intent brows as she took them
daintily up in her slender, jeweled fingers one by one.

"I have a few portraits here," he said, after a pause, "painted on
ivory, of American ladies remarkable for their beauty. Here they are."

He took out five, presenting them one by one to Sir Everard. He had
not presumed to address Lady Kingsland directly. The first was a
little Southern quadroon; the second a bright-looking young squaw.

"These are your American ladies, are they? Pretty enough to be ladies,
certainly. Look, Harrie! Isn't that Indian face exquisite?"

He passed them to his wife. The third was an actress, the fourth a
_danseuse_. All were beautiful. With the last in his hand, Mr.
Parmalee paused, and the first change Sybilla had ever seen cross his
face crossed it then.

"This one I prize most of all," he said, speaking slowly and
distinctly, and looking furtively at my lady. "This lady's story was
the saddest story I ever beard."

Sybilla looked eagerly across the baronet's shoulder for a second. It
was a lovely face, pure and child-like, with great, innocent blue eyes
and wavy brown hair--the face of a girl of sixteen.

"It is very pretty," the baronet said, carelessly, and passed it to his
wife.

Lady Kingsland took it quite carelessly. The next instant she had
turned sharply around and looked Mr. Parmalee full in the face.

The American had evidently expected it, for he had glanced away
abruptly, and begun hustling his pictures back into his portfolio.
Sybilla could see he was flushed dark red. She turned to my lady. She
was deathly pale.

"Did you paint those portraits, too?" she asked, speaking for the first
time.

"No, marm--my lady, I mean. I collected these as curiosities. One of
'em--the one you're looking at--was given me by the original herself."

The picture dropped from my lady's hand as if it had been red-hot. Mr.
Parmalee bounded forward and picked it up with imperturbable _sang
froid_.

"I value this most of all my collection. I know the lady well. I
wouldn't lose it for any amount of money."

My lady arose abruptly and walked to the window, and the hue of her
face was the hue of death. Sybilla Silver's glittering eyes went from
face to face.

"I reckon I'll be going now," Mr. Parmalee remarked. "The rain seems
to hold up