s four feet.
Withal something exquisite marked him even among Maltese puppies, which
Aurora felt without art to define it. She said he reminded her of the
new moon when it is no bigger than a fingernail. If with the tip of his
rose-petal tongue he laid the lick of fondness and approval on the end
of your nose, you felt two things: that the salute had come directed by
the purest heart-guidance, and that the nose had something about it
subtly right. You were flattered.

When Gerald encouraged Mrs. Hawthorne to decide for herself how she
should like to be painted, with what habiliments, appurtenances and
surroundings, she decided first of all to have Busteretto on her
lap,--but that was afterward given up: he wiggled. Then her white
ostrich fan in her hand, her pearls around her neck, her diamond stars
in her hair, a cluster of roses at her corsage, her best dress on, and
an opera-cloak thrown over the back of her chair.

Catching, as she thought, a look of irony on Gerald's face, she had a
return of suspicion.

"See here," she said, observing him narrowly, "there's no trick about
this, is there?"

"Not the shadow of one. Please trust me, Mrs. Hawthorne. This is to be a
portrait entirely satisfactory as well as entirely resembling. It is
like you to desire to be painted with your plumes and pearls and roses,
and they are very becoming. I shall put them in with pleasure. I know
you do not believe I can paint a portrait to suit you. Very well. Grant
me the favor of a chance to try. We shall see."

It was true that she did not believe it, but she was so willing to hope.
One of the upstairs rooms at the back was chosen for the sittings
because the light through its windows was the least variable. The
necessary artist's baggage was brought over from Gerald's, and the work
began.

Charcoal in hand, he regarded Mrs. Hawthorne quietly and lengthily
through half-closed eyes.

"You have not one good feature," he said, as if thinking aloud.

"Oh!"--she started out of the pose they had after much experimenting
decided upon--"oh! is that the way you're going to pay me for keeping
still on a chair by the hour?"

"You have no eyebrows to speak of."

"What do you mean? Yes, I have, too; lots of them; lovely ones. Only
they don't show up. They're fair, to match my hair."

"You are undershot."

"What's that?"

"Your lower jaw closes outside of your upper."

"Oh, but so little! Just enough to take the curse off an otherwis