The verses were signed "G. Lorimer"; and Gertrude's eyes rested on them with the peculiar tenderness with which we all of us regard our efforts the first time that we see ourselves in print. "How nice they look, Gerty," cried Phyllis. "And Mr. Jermyn's picture. But I think they have spoilt it a little in the engraving." "It is rather a come down after _Charlotte Corday_, isn't it?" said Gertrude, pleased yet rueful. Frank, who had been told the history of that unfortunate tragedy, answered rather wistfully-- "We have all to get off our high horse, Miss Lorimer, if we want to live. I had ten guineas this morning for that thing; and there is the _Death of OEdipus_ with its face to the wall in the studio--and likely to remain there, unless we run short of firewood one of these days." "Do you remember," said Gertrude, "how Warrington threw cold water on Pendennis by telling him to stick to poems like the _Church Porch_ and abandon his beloved _Ariadne in Naxos_?" "Yes," answered Frank, "and I never could share Warrington's--and presumably Thackeray's--admiration for those verses." "Nor I," said Gertrude, as Lucy emerged triumphantly from the dark-room and announced the startling success of her negatives. She was shown the wonderful poem, and the no less wonderful picture, and then Phyllis said-- "Don't gloat so over it, Gerty." For Gertrude was still sitting at the table absorbed in contemplation of the printed sheet spread out before her. Gertrude laughed and pushed the paper away; and Lucy quoted gravely-- "'We all, the foolish and the wise, Regard our verse with fascination, Through asinine-paternal eyes, And hues of fancy's own creation!'" A vociferous little clock on the mantelpiece struck ten. "I must be off," said Frank; "there will be my model waiting for me. I am afraid I have wasted a great deal of your time this morning." "No, indeed," said Lucy, as Gertrude rose and folded the seductive _Woodcut_, with a get-thee-behind-me-Satan air; "though I am glad to say we are quite busy." "There are Lord Watergate's slides," added Phyllis; "and Mr. Darrell's sketches to finish off; not to speak of possible chance-comers." "How do you get on with Darrell?" said Frank, who seemed to have forgotten his model, and made no movement to go. "He has only been here once," answered Lucy, promptly; "but I like what I have seen of him." "So do I," cried Phyllis. "And I," added Frank. In the face of this unanimity Gertrude wisely held her peace. "Well then, good-bye," said Frank, reluctantly holding out his hand to each in turn--to Lucy, last. "I am dining out to-night and to-morrow, so shall not see you for an age, I suppose." "Gay person," said Lucy, whose hand lingered in his; held there firmly, and without resistance on her part. "It's a bore," cried Frank, making wistful eyebrows, and looking at her very hard.