Sebastian glanced critically around. Now and then a picture caught his eye and partially pleased it, but these were few and far between; and he passed rather quickly from one room to another, until he came to the end one of all, which was devoted to water-colours. The first object that met his eye was an empty chair, and he promptly sat down upon it. On examining the wall before him, he found that one oil-painting had been admitted amongst the water-colours, and that it was hung exactly opposite to him. He sat in rapt contemplation of it, feebly endeavouring to guess what it was meant to represent. A drab-coloured lady crouched together, nursing one of her own feet. She was scantily attired, also in drab, and had a peculiar cast of countenance, and an imbecile smile, showing rows of very fine teeth, and was glancing upwards. She was adorned with ropes of pearls of a size and value which must have surprised even the author of ‘Lothair,’ could he have seen them. An opaque veil prevented the colour of her hair from being seen. She was drab; the stones of the palace-steps upon which she reposed were likewise drab. The sand of the banks, the water of the river flowing by, were all drab. Sebastian studied the composition, and shook his head, referring in despair to his catalogue. ‘Cleopatra by the Nile, by ----. Price, one hundred guineas.’ If a little green ticket stuck in the margin of the frame were to be believed, this work of genius was sold. ‘Some fellows do have most awful strokes of luck,’ mused Sebastian. ‘Now, the man who painted this thing--I wonder if he knew how the chances were against his ever sell----’ ‘You shan’t!’ ‘I shall! I tell you I shall have that picture; it’s mine. I like that little pussy. Mayn’t I have that little pussy, Miss Spenceley?’ ‘Well, no, dear, I’m afraid not, unless you can persuade papa to buy it; because, you see, we can’t take the things away.’ ‘But I will have it! I want that little pussy for my own!’ And a howl followed. ‘Oh, hush, Jacky, dear! What shall we do if the man comes to turn us out? Come here. We’ll ask papa about the pussy, shall we?’ Sebastian started from his chair, heat, listlessness, ‘Cleopatra by the Nile,’ and everything else forgotten, and turned suddenly round. The group was behind him, close to him--yes, he knew that figure again instantly, even in its present shabbiness, compared with its former splendour. She was bending over an urchin of four or five summers, whose engaging countenance was ominously puckered up in readiness for another burst of infantile music. Two other children, a girl and a boy, both older than the would-be possessor of the pussy-cat, stood by, wrangling with each other as to the possession of another work of art. She still did not turn her face in his direction, but Sebastian, with an eagerness and a pleasure which surprised even himself, exclaimed very audibly,