"Mrs. Sampson passes the whole of Sunday forenoon committing the society columns of the _Gossip_ to memory, and wishing her name was there," he chuckled, with a jocoseness which seemed to that lady extremely ill-timed. But she kept her temper beautifully, long years of social struggle having taught her at least this art of self-restraint. "Dr. Wilson is nothing if not satirical," she returned, with a conventional smile. It would not have been displeasing to Miss Merrivale had the floor at that particular instant opened and engulfed her former hostess. It needs unusual breadth of mind to forgive those toward whom we have been discourteous. On the other side of the statue, Frances saw Mrs. Staggchase watching the encounter with a sort of quiet amusement. It flashed across her mind that if she were to become Mrs. Rangely, and live in Boston, it would be necessary to drop Mrs. Sampson from her calling list, and the reflection instantly followed that the sooner the process of breaking the acquaintance were begun the better. Her face insensibly, hardened a little. "Of course," she said, "one can't help being put into the _Gossip_, but I should never think of reading it." Mrs. Sampson understood that this was a snub, and her cheek flushed. Wilson laughed maliciously. "Oh, everybody reads the _Gossip_," Rangely interposed, good-naturedly coming to the rescue; "although it's to the credit of humanity that everybody has the grace to be ashamed of it." There was a bustle and stir in the crowd as Tom Bently pushed his way up to the group. "By Jove, Rangely," he said, "have you got on to that statue? Do you know what it's cribbed from?" "No," returned Fred; "is it from anything in particular? I supposed it was just a general steal from the antique, and Stanton appropriates only to destroy." "I don't know what it is," was Bently's reply, "but I know there's a cut of it in a book I've got at the studio." Rangely's eyes flashed. "Good," said he, "I'll come round to-night and we'll look it up. I'm going to do a notice of the _America_ for the _Observer_." The two exchanged significant glances, laughing inwardly at the discomfiture of the unfortunate sculptor. "But don't you admire the figure?" asked Mrs. Sampson, eagerly seizing an opportunity to get into the conversation. "It's the kind of thing I should have liked when I was young," Bently returned. "I was taught to like that sort of thing; but all the preliminary rubbish that was plastered on to me when I was a youngster, I have shed as a snake sheds its skin." The movement in the crowd gave Miss Merrivale an excuse for changing her position; and she improved the opportunity to turn away from the widow until the latter could see little except her back. Mrs. Sampson flushed angrily, but she covered her discomfiture, as well as she was able, by turning her attention to the statue, and descanting upon its beauties to Greenfield.