r the shadow of her Cavalier hat, her rich-tinted face was
in splendid gloom, it seeming gloom, not only because her hair was like
night, and her long and wide eyes black, but because in her far-off
look there was gloom's self and somewhat like a hopeless rebellious
yearning. She seemed a storm embodied in the form of woman, and yet in
her black eyes' depths--as if hid behind their darkest shadows and
unknown of by her very self--there lay the possibility of a great and
strange melting--a melting which was all woman--and woman who was
queen.

"By the Lord!" cried Tom Tantillion again, and then flushed up boyishly
and broke forth into an awkward laugh. "She is too magnificent a beauty
for an empty-pocketed rascal like me to offer to buy her. I have not
what would pay for her--and she knows it. She sets her own price upon
herself, as she stands there curling her vermilion lip and daring a man
to presume to buy her cheap. 'Tis only a great Duke's son who may make
bold to bid." And he turned and bowed, half laughing, half malicious,
to Roxholm. "You, my lord Marquess; a purse as full as yours need not
bargain for the thing it would have, but clap down guineas for it."

"A great Duke's son!" "My lord Marquess!" The owner of the picture
began to prick up his ears. Yes, the truth was what he had thought it.

"The gentleman who owns this picture when the young lady comes up to
town that the world may behold her," he said, "will be a proud man."

"No gentleman would have the right to keep it if he had not her
permission," said Roxholm--and he said it without lightness.

"Most gentlemen would keep it whether she would or no," answered the
painter.

"Catch Langdon or Wyse giving it up," says Tom. "And Wyse said, that
blackguard Oxon was coming to see it because he hath made a bet on her
in open club, and hearing of the picture, said he would come to see if
she were worth his trouble--and buy her to hang in his chambers, if she
were--that he might tell her of it when he went to Gloucestershire to
lay siege to her. He brags he will persuade her he has prayed to her
image for a year."

"What is your price?" said my Lord Roxholm to the painter.

The man set one and 'twas high though 'twould not have seemed so in an
age when art was patronised and well paid for in a country where 'twas
more generously encouraged than in England in the days of good Queen
Anne. In truth, the poor fellow did not expect to get half he asked,
but h