He got up, and opening a travelling writing-case, took from it a little parcel, containing a photograph in a leather frame. He looked at it for a minute, then laid it before his friend. It was the girl Amethyst, in a little country-made dress, with her hat in her hand, and her eyes looking happily out, in pleased expectation of the next thing that was coming, whatever it might be. A deep blush coloured Sylvester's face. He felt for his own pocket-book, and, taking from it a photograph wrapped in silver paper, he opened it, and laid it beside Lucian's. It was a half-length of the beautiful Miss Haredale in evening dress, the amethysts round her slender throat, her white neck and her long round arms uncovered, her face smiling and a little self-conscious; Amethyst in society. Lucian gave a slight start. "Is she as handsome as that?" he said slowly. "It's not like her." "She does not always look like it; but never like the other, now," said Sylvester with a sigh. "How did you get it?" "I bought it at a bazaar where she was selling. The Princesses sold theirs there--and actresses and other celebrities--I thought you might like to see it. That is why I have it here." Lucian made no comment. He looked hard at the picture. It evidently made more impression on him than anything that Sylvester could say. At last he took up the two photographs together. "Thank you for bringing it to me," he said, and put it in his breast-pocket. Sylvester barely checked himself in his impulse to seize it, and his annoyance at Lucian's calm conviction that it must be meant for him, gave some sharpness to his tone, as he said-- "How do you propose to act, and to get to see her?" Lucian did not answer for some minutes, then he said slowly-- "I did not consider. There are difficulties. Perhaps she would not receive me, and through her mother I will not act. Besides, if I was asked why I had come forward, it would not be easy to explain, as it would hardly do to mention Una. And I haven't got any clothes, so I can't go anywhere to meet her." Lucian stated these various difficulties, with exactly the same tone of voice for all. "Will you write?" said Sylvester. "I don't think that that's quite the right thing. If I--insulted her, face to face--face to face I must ask her pardon. No, you know them. I suppose you can go and call, and ask her when I may come." "I suppose I could," said poor Sylvester, with a pang. "Yes--I will." "Thank you. But understand that it is my object to make known that I put myself at her disposal. It is not a case for concealing a refusal. Every one must know that I make the offer."