"Oh, poor fellow, he is a professional model, who has been handsome in his day, but whose beauty has succumbed beneath the influence of gin-and-water. My Æneas shall take after his mother. I have been studying all the types of the Greek Aphrodite in order to find the head I want." "I heartily despise that poor stupid Dido, and I have always detested Æneas," said the widow; "it is my belief that his piety was of the Pecksniffian order, and that he only carried his father in order that he might have an excuse for losing his wife. But I am dying to see your picture nevertheless, and I shall count the days between this and April." The days passed quickly enough in spite of Mrs. Champernowne's impatience; and early in that capricious month the painter stood before his finished picture, waiting the widow's visit. He had been putting the last touches to the canvas during that very morning; and even now he had his palette in his hand, and hovered restlessly before his easel every now and then, as if he would fain have made some new attack upon Dido or her cruel lover. "If Mrs. Champernowne doesn't come directly, I shall do something dreadful to the Trojan's nose," he muttered, looking at the big clock. "His nostrils are a thought too red, as it is: another touch of vermilion, and he would look as if his nose had been bleeding. You are a lovely creature, Dido; though perhaps I have no right to say so. There are the wheels, and the bell,--'She is coming, my love, my sweet.' I hope they have arranged a nice luncheon. I'll go out and meet her." The painter laid down his palette and ran to the portico, beneath which Mrs. Champernowne appeared with her niece in attendance. Charming as she was always, she had never been more delightful than to-day, with her pretty air of impatience, her bewitching assumption of sisterly interest in the painter's triumph. "Take me straight to the painting-room, please," she said, as Mr. Crawford moved towards the open door of the drawing-room. He obeyed her, and led her at once to the big tapestried chamber, where the perfume of jonquils and hyacinths blew in under the open window.