“I shouldn’t waste many thoughts upon a portrait painted forty years ago!” she said somewhat scornfully. “Why, child, the idea of growing sentimental about a man who, if he is still alive, must be seventy if he is a day!” “Sentimental!” echoed Chris. “Did I speak sentimentally? I did not know it. But--I should like to know something about the man whose portrait it was. It was an interesting face, mother. I will show it you to-morrow, and you shall judge for yourself whether I am not right.” Mrs. Abercarne, seeing that the girl was too much occupied in thinking of the picture to give her attention to anything else, gave up her attempt to sound her on another subject, and talked about the music until they both went to sleep. On the following day, when Chris was in the drawing-room with her duster, she remembered the fascinating miniature, and thought she would like to have another look at it by daylight. So she went into the back drawing-room, remembering that she had forgotten to lock the cupboard door when she handed back his keys to Mr. Bradfield. Someone had been there before her, however, for the door was now securely locked. Chris was vexed at this, and gave the door an impatient little shake. The cupboard was old, and the bolt gave way under this rough handling. She had not expected this, but, as it had happened, she felt justified in taking advantage of the occurrence, for Mr. Bradfield had given her permission to examine what she pleased. Opening the door, therefore, she took out the box, which had been replaced at the back of its shelf, and turned out the contents in search of the miniature. She took out every separate thing, she thoroughly examined not only that shelf but the others; and then she shut the cupboard, disappointed and puzzled. The miniature was no longer there. CHAPTER VIII. THE STRANGE FACE IN THE EAST WING. Chris thought this incident very strange. She pondered it in her mind, and mentioned it to her mother in a manner which showed that she considered it a suspicious one. Mrs. Abercarne looked at the matter differently. There were a thousand reasons, any one of which might be the right one in this case, why a gentleman should choose to transfer some object in his possession from one place of safe keeping to another. It might be the portrait of an old friend---- “But he said he didn’t know who it was,” objected Chris. “Well, it may be a particularly good painting, so that he may wish to add it to the collection of miniatures upstairs which he spoke of,” said Mrs. Abercarne, who now showed herself ready at all times to take Mr. Bradfield’s part. “Or perhaps,” she hazarded, with a rapid glance at the girl’s face, “he did not quite like your taking such a strong interest in the portrait of another gentleman.” “Indeed, I don’t see how that could concern him,” returned Chris, coldly.