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! Monstrous! The boy disappeared with the message. I seized my opportunity of speaking to her. Don’t ask me what I said! Never before (or since) have I talked such utter nonsense, with such intense earnestness of purpose and such immeasurable depth of feeling. Do pray remember what you said yourself, the first time you had the chance of opening your heart to _your_ young lady. The boy returned before I had half done, and gave her back the odious document. “Mr. Pickup’s very sorry, miss. The answer is, No.” She lost all her lovely color, and sighed, and turned away. As she pulled down her veil, I saw the tears in her eyes. Did that piteous spectacle partially deprive me of my senses? I actually entreated her to let me be of some use--as if I had been an old friend, with money enough in my pocket to discount the note myself. She brought me back to my senses with the utmost gentleness. “I am afraid you forget, sir, that we are strangers. Good-morning.” I followed her to the door. I asked leave to call on her father, and satisfy him about myself and my family connections. She only answered that her father was too ill to see visitors. I went out with her on to the landing. She turned on me sharply for the first time. “You can see for yourself, sir, that I am in great distress. I appeal to you, as a gentleman, to spare me.” If you still doubt whether I was really in love, let the facts speak for themselves. I hung my head, and let her go.