Quoth Miss Polly with a lofty smile, and laying her hand on her sister's shoulder, "My dear Patty, I am not at all surprised to hear it. I have experience of artists, if anybody has, and in the best of them I have always observed one defect in judging my music--professional jealousy!" CHAPTER VII. The day after the party at Garnet Lodge Mrs. Dobbs was surprised by the announcement from her old servant, Martha, that Mr. Bragg was at the gate, and would be glad to speak with her if she was at liberty. "Quite at liberty, Martha, and very happy to see Mr. Bragg. Now what can _he_ want?" said Mrs. Dobbs to the faithful Jo Weatherhead, who was in his usual place by the hearth. "Something about the house in Friar's Row?" suggested Jo. "Ah! I suppose so. Though I don't know what there can be to say. However, it's no use guessing. It's like staring at the outside of a letter instead of reading it. He'll speak for himself." Meanwhile Mr. Bragg had alighted from the plain brougham which had brought him from his country house; and, walking up the garden path, and in at the open door, presented himself in the little parlour. "I hope you'll excuse my calling, Mrs. Dobbs. You and me have met years ago." "No excuse needed, Mr. Bragg. I remember you very well. This is my brother-in-law, Mr. Weatherhead. Please to sit down." Mr. Bragg sat down; and he and his hostess looked at each other for a moment attentively. Mr. Bragg was a large, solidly built man, with an impression on his face of perplexity and resolution subtly mingled together. It is a look which may be often seen on the countenance of an intelligent workman, whose employment brings him into conflict with physical phenomena--at once so docile and so intractable; so simply and so eternally mysterious. The expression had long survived the days of Mr. Bragg's personal struggle with facts of a metallic nature. In his present position, as a man of large wealth and influence, he had to deal chiefly with the more complex phenomena of humanity, and very seldom found it so trustworthy in the manipulation as the iron and lead and tin and steel of his younger days. Mrs. Dobbs marked the changes wrought by time and circumstances in Joshua Bragg. She remembered him--he had even been temporarily in her husband's employment, at one time--in a well-worn suit of working clothes, and with chronically black finger-nails. She saw him now, dressed with quiet good taste (for he left that matter to his London tailor), with irreproachably clean hands--on which, however, toil had left ineffaceable traces--and a massive watch chain worth half a year's earnings of his former days. "You're very little changed in the main, Mr. Bragg. And the years haven't been hard on you," said Mrs. Dobbs, summing up the result of her observations.