himself that he must look out, and he wondered if poor Vera would also be insurmountably charmless to the good-looking young man. "But what a likeness, papa--what a likeness!" he heard her murmur at his elbow with suppressed excitement. "How can you tell, my dear, if you haven't seen her?" "I mean to the gentleman--the son." Everyone was exclaiming "How wonderfully clever--how beautiful!" and under cover of the agitation and applause Maurice Glanvil had drawn nearer the picture. The movement had brought him close to the young man of whom he had been talking with Vera and who, with his happy eyes on the painted figure, seemed to smile in acknowledgment of the artist's talent and of the sitter's charm. "Do you know who the lady is?" Maurice said to him. He turned his bright face to his interlocutor. "She's my mother--Mrs. Tregent. Isn't it wonderful?" His eyes, his lips, his voice flashed a light into Glanvil's uncertainty--the tormenting resemblance was simply a prolonged echo of Fanny Knocker, in whose later name, precisely, he recognised the name pronounced by the young man. Maurice Glanvil stared in some bewilderment; this stately, splendid lady, with a face so vivid that it was handsome, was what that unfortunate girl had become? The eyes, as if they picked him out, looked at him strangely from the canvas; the face, with all its difference, asserted itself, and he felt himself turning as red as if he had been in the presence of the original. Young Tregent, pleased and proud, had given way to the pressing spectators, placing himself at Vera's other side; and Maurice heard the girl exclaim to him in one of her pretty effusions: "How beautiful she must be, and how amiable!" "She is indeed--it's not a bit flattered." And while Maurice still stared, more and more mystified--for "flattered, flattered!" was the unspoken solution in which he had instantly taken refuge--his neighbour continued: "I wish you could know her--you must; she's delightful. She couldn't come here to-day--they asked her: she has people lunching at home." "I should be so glad; perhaps we may meet her somewhere," said Vera. "If I ask her and if you'll let her I'm sure she'll come to see you," the young man responded. Maurice had glanced at him while the face of the portrait watched them with the oddest, the grimmest effect. He was filled with a confusion of feelings, asking himself half-a-dozen questions at once. Was young Tregent, with his attentive manner, "making up" to Vera? was he going out of his way in answering for his mother's civility? Little did he know what he was taking on himself! Above all was Fanny Knocker to-day this extraordinary figure--extraordinary in the light of the early plainness that had made him bolt? He became conscious of an extreme curiosity, an irresistible desire to see her. "Oh, papa," said Vera, "Mr. Tregent's so kind; he's so good as to promise us a visit from his mother."