"Tell me who this sketch is by," he asked, stopping before Margaret, and pointing to a small Lambinet, glowing like an opal on the dull-green wall of the studio. "I so seldom see good pictures that a gem like this is a delight. By a Frenchman! Ah! Yes, I see the subtlety of coloring. Marvellous people, these Frenchmen. And this little jewel you have here? This bit of mezzo in color. With this I am more familiar, for we have a good many collections of old prints at home. It is, I think--yes--I thought I could not be mistaken--it is a Morland," and he examined it closely, his nose almost touching the glass. The next instant he had crossed the room to the window looking out over the city, the smoke and steam of a thousand fires floating over its wide expanse. "Come here, my son," he called to Oliver. "Look over that stretch of energy and brains. Is it not inspiring? And that band of silver, moving so quietly and resistlessly out to sea. What a power for good it all is, and what a story it will tell before the century is out." Margaret was by his side as he spoke. She had hardly taken her eyes from him since he entered the room--not even when she was listening to Nathan. All her old-time, prejudices and preconceived estimates of Richard were slipping away. Was this the man whom she used to think of as a dreamer of dreams, and a shiftless Southerner? This charming old gentleman with the air of an aristocrat and the keen discernment of an expert? She could hardly believe her eyes. As for Oliver, his very heart was bursting with pride. It had all happened exactly as he had wanted it--his father and Margaret had liked each other from the very first moment. And then she had been so beautiful, too, even in her long painting-apron and her hair twisted up in a coil on her head. And the little blush of surprise and sweetness which had overspread her face when they entered, and which his father must have seen, and the inimitable grace with which she slipped from her high stool, and with a half courtesy held out her hand to welcome her visitors, and all with the savoir faire and charm of a woman of the world! How it all went straight to his heart. If, however, he had ever thought her pretty in this working-costume, he thought her all the more captivating a few minutes later in the little French jacket--all pockets and buttons--which she had put on as soon as the greetings were over and the tour of the room had been made in answer to Richard's delighted questions.