al), and will, probably, continue to thrive and multiply in the
future: the one venerable institution of this world which we can safely
count upon as likely to last, being the institution of human folly.
Nevertheless, if a wise man of the reformed taste wants a modern
picture, there are places for him to go to now where he may be sure of
getting it genuine; where, if the artist is not alive to vouch for his
work, the facts at any rate have not had time to die which vouch for
the dealer who sells it. In my time matters were rather different. The
painters _we_ throve by had died long enough ago for pedigrees to get
confused, and identities disputable; and if I had been desirous of
really purchasing a genuine Old Master for myself--speaking as a
practical man--I don't know where I should have gone to ask for one,
or whose judgment I could have safely relied on to guard me from being
cheated, before I bought it.

We are stopping a long time in the picture-gallery, you will say. I am
very sorry--but we must stay a little longer, for the sake of a living
picture, the gem of the collection.

I was still admiring Mr. Pickup's Old Masters, when a dirty little boy
opened the door of the gallery, and introduced a young lady.

My heart--fancy my having a heart!--gave one great bound in me. I
recognized the charming person whom I had followed in the street.

Her veil was not down this time. All the beauty of her large, soft,
melancholy, brown eyes beamed on me. Her delicate complexion became
suddenly suffused with a lovely rosy flush. Her glorious black hair--no!
I will make an effort, I will suppress my ecstasies. Let me only say
that she evidently recognized me. Will you believe it?--I felt myself
coloring as I bowed to her. I never blushed before in my life. What a
very curious sensation it is!

The horrid boy claimed her attention with a grin.

"Master's engaged," he said. "Please to wait here."

"I don't wish to disturb Mr. Pickup," she answered.

What a voice! No! I am drifting back into ecstasies: her voice was
worthy of her--I say no more.

"If you will be so kind as to show him this," she proceeded; "he knows
what it is. And please say, my father is very ill and very anxious. It
will be quite enough if Mr. Pickup will only send me word by you--Yes or
No."

She gave the boy an oblong slip of stamped paper. Evidently a promissory
note. An angel on earth, sent by an inhuman father, to ask a Jew for
discount! Mo