"Admirably said," remarked my father. Before we took our leave, I had engaged Miss Clare to dine with us while my father was in town. CHAPTER XXI. LADY BERNARD. When she came we had no other guest, and so had plenty of talk with her. Before dinner I showed her my husband's pictures; and she was especially pleased with that which hung in the little room off the study, which I called my boudoir,--a very ugly word, by the way, which I am trying to give up,--with a curtain before it. My father has described it in "The Seaboard Parish:" a pauper lies dead, and they are bringing in his coffin. She said it was no wonder it had not been sold, notwithstanding its excellence and force; and asked if I would allow her to bring Lady Bernard to see it. After dinner Percivale had a long talk with her, and succeeded in persuading her to sit to him; not, however, before I had joined my entreaties with his, and my father had insisted that her face was not her own, but belonged to all her kind. The very next morning she came with Lady Bernard. The latter said she knew my husband well by reputation, and had, before our marriage, asked him to her house, but had not been fortunate enough to possess sufficient attraction. Percivale was much taken with her, notwithstanding a certain coldness, almost sternness of manner, which was considerably repellent,--but only for the first few moments, for, when her eyes lighted up, the whole thing vanished. She was much pleased with some of his pictures, criticising freely, and with evident understanding. The immediate result was, that she bought both the pauper picture and that of the dying knight. "But I am sorry to deprive your lovely room of such treasures, Mrs. Percivale," she said, with a kind smile. "Of course I shall miss them," I returned; "but the thought that you have them will console me. Besides, it is good to have a change; and there are only too many lying in the study, from which he will let me choose to supply their place." "Will you let me come and see which you have chosen?" she asked. "With the greatest pleasure," I answered. "And will you come and see me? Do you think you could persuade your husband to bring you to dine with me?" I told her I could promise the one with more than pleasure, and had little doubt of being able to do the other, now that my husband had seen her. A reference to my husband's dislike to fashionable society followed, and I had occasion to mention his feeling about being asked without me. Of the latter, Lady Bernard expressed the warmest approval; and of the former, said that it would have no force in respect of her parties, for they were not at all fashionable. This was the commencement of a friendship for which we have much cause to thank God. Nor did we forget that it came through Miss Clare.