They both stared for a little at the ceiling and the shadow of the lamp. 'Now, if the ceiling would only tell us something of her face,' said Kelly. 'It would be as well to have a look at her,' said Wogan. The street was quite deserted. 'Will you give me a back'? The house was separated from the path by an iron railing a couple of feet from the wall. The Parson set his legs apart and steadied himself by the railing, while Wogan climbed up and knelt on to his shoulders. In that position he was able to lean forward and catch hold of the sill. His forehead was on a level with the sill. By craning his neck he could just look into the room. 'Is she there?' asked the Parson. 'Yes, and alone.' 'How does she look? Not in tears? Nick, don't tell me she's in tears.' The Parson's legs became unsteady at the mere supposition of such a calamity. 'Make yourself easy upon that point,' said Wogan, clinging for dear life to the sill, 'there's never a trace of a tear about her at all. For your sake, George, I could wish that there was. Her eyes are as dry as a campaigner's biscuits. Oh, George, I am in despair for you.' 'Nick, you are the most consoling friend,' groaned the Parson, who now wished for tears more than anything else in the world. 'What is she doing?' 'Nothing at all. She is sitting at the table. George, have you ever noticed her chin? It is a sort of decisive chin, and upon my word, George, it has the ugliest jilting look that ever I saw. She has just the same look in her big grey eyes, which are staring at nothing at all. Keep still, George, or you will throw me.' For the Parson was become as uneasy as a restive horse. 'But, Nick, is she doing nothing at all? Is she reading?' 'No, she is doing nothing but expect you. But she is expecting you. Steady, for if I tumble off your shoulders the noise will bring her to the windows.' The menace had its effect. Mr. Kelly's limbs became pillars of marble, and Wogan again looked into the room. 'Wait a moment,' he said, 'I see what she is doing. She is staring at something she holds in her hands.' 'My likeness?' cried the Parson hopefully. 'To be sure it will be that.' 'I will tell you in a moment. Hold on to the railings, George.' George did as he was bid, and Wogan, still holding to the window-sill very cautiously, stood up on his friend's shoulders. George, however, seemed quite insensible to Mr. Wogan's weight. 'It will be my likeness,' he repeated to himself. 'I had it done for her by Mr. Zincke. I was right, Nick; she has forgiven me altogether.' Mr. Wogan's head was now well above the window-sill, and he looked downwards upon Rose, who sat at the table. 'Yes, it's a likeness,' said Nick. 'I told you. I told you,' said the Parson. The man began to wriggle with satisfaction. 'You are wrong, Nick. You know nothing at all about women, after all. Come down, you vainglorious boaster.' It seemed he was about to cut capers with Mr. Wogan on his shoulders.