“There can be no question about that: she is beautiful, and her beauty is of a high class. I admire her much more than all her sisters. She has a grander mien.” “Have you seen Miss Arundel’s picture at the Academy?” “Everybody has seen that: it has made a fury.” “I heard an eminent judge say to-day, that it was the portrait of one who must be a great woman.” “Well, Miss Arundel is a remarkable person.” “Do you admire her?” “I have heard first-rate critics say that there was no person to be compared to Miss Arundel. And unquestionably it is a most striking countenance: that profound brow and those large deep eyes—and then her figure is so fine; but, to tell you the truth, Miss Arundel is a person I never could make out.” “I wonder she does not marry,” said Lothair. “She is very difficult,” said Lady Clanmorne. “Perhaps, too, she is of your opinion about marriage.” “I have a good mind to ask her after dinner whether she is,” said Lothair. “I fancy she would not marry a Protestant?” “I am no judge of such matters,” said Lady Clanmorne; “only I cannot help thinking that there would be more chance of a happy marriage when both were of the same religion.” “I wish we were all of the same religion. Do not you?” “Well, that depends a little on what the religion might be.” “Ah!” sighed Lothair, “what between religion and marriage and some other things, it appears to me one never has a tranquil moment. I wonder what religious school the Duke of Brecon belongs to? Very high and dry, I should think.” The moment the gentlemen returned to the drawing-room, Lothair singled out Miss Arundel, and attached himself to her. “I have been to see your portrait today,” he said. She changed color. “I think it,” he continued, “the triumph of modern art, and I could not easily fix on any production of the old masters that excels it.” “It was painted at Rome,” she said, in a low voice. “So I understood. I regret that, when I was at Rome, I saw so little of its art. But my health, you know, was wretched. Indeed, if it had not been for some friends—I might say for one friend—I should not have been here or in this world. I can never express to that person my gratitude, and it increases every day. All that I have dreamed of angels was then realized.” “You think too kindly of us.” “Did Lady St. Jerome give you my message about the earth from the holy places which I had placed in a crucifix, and which I hope you will accept from me, in remembrance of the past and your Christian kindness to me? I should have left it at St. James’s Square before this, but it required some little arrangement after its travels.” “I shall prize it most dearly, both on account of its consecrated character and for the donor’s sake, whom I have ever wished to see the champion of our Master.” “You never had a wish, I am sure,” said Lothair, “that was not sublime and pure.”