u are an Englishman," she said. "That is the way you
will speak to your wife."

"I will never speak to _you_, Dolly, in any way you don't like."

"No" said Dolly gravely, and returning to her work.

"Aren't you ever going to give me a little bit of encouragement?" said
he. "I have been waiting as patiently as I could. May I tell my mother
who did the picture, when I send it?"

"Say it was done by a deserving young artist, in needy circumstances;
but no names."

"But that's not true, Dolly. Your father is as well off as ever he was;
his embarrassments are only temporary. He is not in needy
circumstances."

"I said nothing about my father. Here, Mr. St. Leger--come and look at
it."

The finished likeness was done with great truth and grace. Dolly's
talent was an extraordinary one, and had not been uncultivated. She had
done her best in the present instance, and the result was a really
delicious piece of work. Lawrence saw himself given to great advantage;
truly, delicately, characteristically. He was delighted.

"I will send it right off," he said. "Mamma has nothing of me half so
good."

"Ask her what she thinks it is worth."

"And I want you to paint a duplicate of this, for me; for myself."

"A duplicate!" cried Dolly. "I couldn't."

"Another likeness of me then, in another view. Set your own price."

"But I shall never make my fortune painting you," said Dolly. "You must
get me some other customers; that is the bargain."

"What notion is this, Dolly? It is nonsense between me and you. Why not
let things be settled? Let us come to an understanding, and give up
this ridiculous idea of painting for money;--if you are in earnest."

"I am always in earnest. And we are upon an excellent understanding,
Mr. St. Leger. And I want money. The thing is as harmonious as
possible."

CHAPTER XXII.

MR. COPLEY.

Lawrence could get no more satisfaction from Dolly. She left him, and
went and stood at the window of her mother's room, looking out. The
sunset landscape was glorious. Bay and boats, shipping, palaces, canals
and bridges, all coloured in such wonderful colours, brilliant in such
marvellous lights and shades, as northern lands do not know, though
they have their own. Yet she looked at it sadly. It was Venice; but
when would her father come? All her future seemed doubtful and cloudy;
and the sunshine which is merely external does not in some moods cast
even a reflection of brightness upon one's inne