“It’s the corner down by the mill,” she said, “where the foot-bridge crosses the river. And the dog, it’s like the--Phœbe, it’s Miss Avesham and her dog on the bridge by the mill.” Phœbe looked in silence a moment. “What is to be done?” she said, at length. “Dear me, yes, it’s a wonderful likeness, too. She is just like that when she laughs.” “What is the picture called?” said Clara, opening the note which had accompanied it. “In Danger. Oh! I see. The dog is shaking itself, and her dress is in danger of getting wet. How very clever!” Phœbe had ceased looking at the picture: an affair far more momentous and interesting occupied her. “I wonder what it all means?” she began. “You see the dog is shaking itself,” repeated Clara, “and the danger is----” “I know that,” said Phœbe. “But is there, if I can say so without being indelicate, do you think there is some understanding between Miss Avesham and Mr. Collingwood? Do you suppose she stood to him? How interesting it would have been if we had happened to stroll down there one of these last days and seen him working!” “No doubt you are right, Phœbe,” said her sister. “It is not proved,” said Phœbe, modestly, “but it seems likely. We can’t ask Miss Avesham about it, and really I dare not ask Mrs. Collingwood.” “Ask her about what?” “Don’t you see, Clara, it would be so awkward if this picture had been done without Miss Avesham’s knowledge. Dear me, how well he has caught the likeness! There is a ring at the bell. Go to the window, Clara, keeping yourself out of sight, and see who it is.” Clara ambushed herself behind the curtains and peeped out. “Colonel Raymond,” she whispered, “and Mrs. Raymond.” “Dear me, how fortunate! I dare say he will know. Tell them to bring tea at once, Clara. He is sure to have heard of it if his cousin is engaged. We’ll show him the picture, and see if he says anything.” Colonel Raymond was in the best spirits that afternoon. He had at last been to call on the Aveshams, and he considered that his reception had been most gratifying. He had also explained at length his relationship to Jeannie, and all was satisfactory. Mrs. Raymond also was in cheerful mood, since the Colonel had decided to pay calls this afternoon, and thus there was no brisk walk for the children. The talk soon turned on the picture exhibition, and Clara announced with modest pride that Jack Collingwood had sent them a contribution. “Indeed, we were just unpacking it when you came, Colonel Raymond,” she said, “and I should so much like to hear your opinion on it.” The Colonel adjusted his eye-glasses. “Why, God bless my soul,” he exclaimed, “it’s Jeannie Avesham! Constance, do come here, and look at Mr. Collingwood’s picture of cousin Jeannie. Wonderfully good, is it not? Just caught the look she has when she smiles. She looked just like that at some little story I told her this afternoon, do you remember? And the dog, Toby, dear little Toby. How like! How like!”