tion sort of faces; the
valentine sort that strikes a man at first sight, but that at the end of
a week he would do anything for the sake of varying its monotony. But
Nina--the more you look at her the more lovely she becomes, _unless_ she
gets the notion that some man wants to marry her money--and then it is
time for me to take to the prairies! Her eyes get hard, her mouth goes
up on one side and her features seem to set and freeze. She has only one
hard side, but that is adamant! Poor girl, I can hardly blame her. As
she says herself, there are proposals on her breakfast tray every
morning--with all the other advertisements."

Mr. Randolph looked directly into the blue eyes before him, as though to
probe their depths. "I want my girl to marry a man whom she can look up
to because he is trying to accomplish something himself," he said
emphatically, "and not one who will lay his hat down in the front hall
of my house instead of at his own office. And," he added grimly, "a
coronet in place of the hat is still less to my liking."

A curiously restrained, almost diffident, expression, which in no way
suited his personality, came into Derby's face, and he abruptly rose to
take leave.

Mr. Randolph rose also, but, instead of terminating the interview,
crossed the room, saying, "Before you go, John, I want to show you a
prize I have found." He turned a canvas that stood face to the wall, and
lifted it to a sofa for a better view.

It was a marvelous picture: a Madonna and child; and on the shoulder of
the Madonna was a dove.

"It is supposed to be a Raphael," said Randolph, "and I am convinced
that it is. The story is rather interesting. Raphael painted two
pictures that were almost identical. One is in the Sansevero family.
Their collection in Rome I have seen, but this picture has always hung
at Torre Sansevero, their country estate, and I have never been there.
However, as I said, Raphael painted two. The second belonged to the
Belluno family and was sold long ago into France. There it became the
property of a Duc du Richeur, and during the Revolution it was
supposedly destroyed. Some time ago Christopher Shayne, the dealer,
bought among other things at an auction a nearly black canvas. On having
it cleaned, this was the result--without doubt the lost Raphael!"

"Jove, that's interesting!" exclaimed Derby. "I'd like to see the
other. Perhaps I'll have the chance, although Nina wrote that they were
leaving for Rome,