“Your humble servant. As Alexander stood there, he said, ‘I wonder you don’t draw my profile also!’ ‘Why, so I will,’ was my reply, and placing a lamp on this column here, I made him stand in such a position that his side-face was silhouetted upon the panel, and—there you have it! Now, Lord Courtenay, you are an artist, that is to say, one who has, or ought to have, a keen eye for beauty. Don’t you think that Alexander’s profile is perfect?” Wilfrid ventured to dissent, though with some diffidence, because it was clear that his fair hostess regarded it as an ideal head. “Well, Sir Critic, what are the faulty points?” “To meet the requirements of my ideal of beauty—and mine, of course, may be a wrong ideal—the line of the forehead should be brought slightly nearer to the perpendicular. The nose would be perfect but for this slight depression near the bridge, and the chin, in my opinion, recedes a little more than it ought.” “And your opinion of his character, so far as it can be deduced from this silhouette?” “An amiable and intellectual youth, disposed to do good, but likely to fail for want of a strong will. Of course,” laughed Wilfrid, “this opinion of mine is open to correction. One should see the whole face with its expression, before passing judgment.” Pauline’s pout showed that she was not altogether pleased with Wilfrid’s views. “Shall I criticise the critic?” she said, and calling upon Vera to place the lamp exactly where it had been during her sketching of Alexander, she adjusted Wilfrid’s position, little by little, till at last his profile—brow, nose, lip, chin—became coincident as far as was possible, with Alexander’s. “That’s it; now don’t move,” she said. “Let us see how much difference there is, and whom the difference favours.” Taking up a piece of black crayon, she outlined Wilfrid’s profile upon that of Alexander’s, with a result as surprising to Wilfrid as to herself. The defects, or assumed defects, that he had pointed out in Alexander’s profile were remedied in his own. The line of the forehead had become vertical, imparting a more intellectual character to the face; the depression of the nose had vanished, and the chin had taken a firmer touch. Though Wilfrid tried not to be conceited, his own judgment told him that the second profile was preferable to the first, and so thought Pauline. “H’m, an improvement, certainly,” she said, holding her head upon one side and surveying her handiwork. “So I am to read your character thus,” she added quizzically. “Amiable and intellectual, herein running parallel with Alexander, but differing from Alexander in having a strong will. I trust that in Alexander’s case you are in error, for ’twill be a pity if weakness of will should prevent him from carrying out the good reforms he has in mind.” They returned to their chairs and to their tea. “Since you know the Czarovitch so well,” said Wilfrid, “I presume you know also his _aide-de-camp_, Prince Ouvaroff?”