Marmaduke, leaving Douglas in the grill-room, went upstairs to the picture galleries, where several students were more or less busy at their easels. Lady Constance was in the Sheepshanks gallery, copying “Sterne’s Maria,” by Charles Landseer, as best she could. She had been annoyed some minutes before by the behavior of a stout woman in a rich costume of black silk, who had stopped for a moment to inspect her drawing. Lady Constance, by a look, had made her aware that she was considered intrusive, whereupon she had first stared Lady Constance out of countenance, and then deliberately scanned her work with an expression which conveyed a low opinion of its merit. Having thus revenged herself, she stood looking uneasily at the door for a minute, and at last wandered away into the adjoining gallery. A few minutes later Marmaduke entered, looking round as if in search of someone. “Here I am,” said Constance to him, playfully. “So I see,” said Marmaduke, recognizing her with rueful astonishment. “You knew I was looking for you, did you?” “Of course I did, sir.” “Youre clever, so you are. What are you doing here?” “Dont you see? I am copying a picture.” “Oh! it’s very pretty. Which one are you copying?” “What an impertinent question! You can tell my poor copy well enough, only you pretend not to.” “Yes, now that I look closely at it, I fancy it’s a little like Mary the maid of the inn there.” “It’s not Mary: it’s Maria—Sterne’s Maria.” “Indeed! Do you read Sterne?” “Certainly not,” said Constance, looking very serious. “Then what do you paint his Maria for? How do you know whether she is a fit subject for you?” “Hush, sir! You must not interrupt my work.” “I suppose you have lots of fun here over your art studies, eh?” “Who?” “You, and all the other girls here.” “Oh, I am sure I dont know any of them.” “Quite right, too, your ladyship. Dont make yourself cheap. I hope none of the low beggars ever have the audacity to speak to you.” “I dont know anything about them,” said Lady Constance, pettishly. “All I mean is that they are strangers to me.” “Most likely theyll remain so. You all seem to stick to the little pictures tremendously. Why dont you go in for high art? There’s a big picture of Adam and Eve! Why dont you paint that?” “Will you soon be leaving town?” she replied, looking steadily at her work, and declining to discuss Adam and Eve, who were depicted naked. Receiving no reply, she looked round, and saw Marmaduke leaving the room with the woman in the black silk dress. “Who is that girl?” said Susanna, as they went out. “That’s Lady Constance, whom I was to have married.” “I guessed as much when I saw you talking to her. She is a true English lady, heaven bless her! I took the liberty of looking at her painting; and she stared at me as if I had bitten her.” “She is a little fool.” “She will not be such a little fool as to try to snub me again, I think. Bob: did you get my letter?”