To return to myself. I put the finishing touch to a view of rock and woodland scenery, north-west of Tossil’s Barton, and set off to try my fortune with it. Some young ladies, born to my position, would have thought this errand one of much degradation, but it did not appear so to me. So I walked briskly--for I hate an omnibus, and could ill afford a cab--to the shop of a well-known dealer in pictures, not far from the Haymarket. It was my first venture into the heart of London, but I found the way very easily, having jotted it down from a map. The day was dark and drizzly; the pavement grimy and slimy, and hillocked with mud at the joints of the flags. It was like walking on a peeled kneading-trough with dollops of paste left in it. Along the far reach of the streets, and the gardens in the squares, wisps of fog were crawling, and almost every one was coughing. The dealer received me politely. Too politely in fact: for it seemed to savour of kindness, which I did not want from him. What I wanted was business, and nothing else. He took my poor drawing, done only in water-colours, and set it up in a square place made perhaps for the purpose, where the brown flaw fell upon it from a skylight formed like a Devonshire chimney. Then he drew back and clasped his hands, then shaded his eyes with them, as if the light were too strong, whereas the whole place was like a well turned upside down. He seemed uneasy because I did not care to follow him throughout all this little performance. "And now," I said, for my foolish pride was up, and I spoke as I would have done to the porter at our lodge, not with the least contempt--I was never so low as that--but with a long perspective, "Now, Mr. Oxgall, it will soon be dark. What will you give me for it?" "Allow me, Miss; allow me one moment. The light is a leetle too strong. Ah, the mark of the brush comes out. Strong touch, but indiscreet. A year of study required. Shade too broad and massive. A want of tone in the background. Great feeling of nature, but inexperienced rendering. More mellowness desiderated. Full however of promise. All the faults on the right side. Most energetic handling; no weak stippling here. But water-colours are down just now; a deal depends on the weather and time of year." "How so, Mr. Oxgall?" "Hot sun, and off they go. Fog and murk and frost, and the cry is all for oil. Excuse me, Miss--a thousand pardons, your name escaped me, you did not pronounce it strongly." "Miss Valence!" I said, with an emphasis that startled him out of his mincing. "Miss Valence, you think me very long. All young ladies do. But my object is to do them justice, and if they show any power, to encourage them." "Thank you, I want no encouragement. I know I can draw a little; and there it is. The fog is thickening. I have far to go. Your price, if you please?" I went up many steps in his opinion, by reason of my curtness and independence.