Sir Joshua had only a few of his paintings to show the eager, intelligent young lady, whose grace was so winning to his eye, and her eloquence so grateful to his ear—through his trumpet—as it reached him. There were fair ladies sacrificing to the graces and to the muses, very interesting to Lady Bell. There was Dr. Beattie in his gown as an Oxford Doctor of Laws, with his book on “The Immutability of Truth” under his arm, and the Angel of Truth going before him, beating down the gruesome figures of Sophistry, Scepticism, and Infidelity, said to personify Voltaire, Gibbon, and Hume, which was carefully studied by Captain Fane. There was the doom of Count Ugolino and his sons, which enchained with the fascination of horror both of the gazers. There was the portrait of a plump little woman, sprightly even on canvas, her high-dressed hair wreathed with pearls, a shawl girdle binding loosely the short waist and bodice, which Sir Joshua strove to paint into fashion—a great improvement on the earlier elongated steel-bound waist and laced-up bodice. As Sir Joshua was about to name the original, the real lady ran unushered, in her hat and cloak, into the room. The new-comer had not a moment to stay to be introduced to Lady Bell Trevor and Captain Fane. She was in haste to tell Sir Joshua that she had just come down from the Burgh, where she had left her master at his place of business, but nearly as ailing as the Doctor (good lack, what a load she had on her head and shoulders!). She wished to know whether Sir Joshua had done the re-touching which he had taken it into his head to throw away on a barn-door face beyond improvement. Give her joy on the audacity of complimenting herself; but she did not mean to compliment—not that she was not well enough pleased with her own, she would never deny it. She would like the picture packed and sent out without loss of time. Queeney and the rest of the young fry might care to look at it one day, when it was all that was left of their mother. Good day to him and to all. “You are in luck, Lady Bell,” announced Sir Joshua, returning, briskly rubbing his hands, from seeing the lady to her coach, “if you have not had a previous opportunity of meeting my friend. That is Mrs. Thrale, the wife of the great brewer, who is himself an exceedingly liberal gentleman and well-read scholar; but his wife excels him in the classics.” “She was one of the west country Lynches,” said Lady Bell, showing her acquaintance with the lady’s antecedents.