"I did. Perfumes for handkerchiefs, I suppose." "Perfumes for handkerchiefs--Oh?" replied the doctor in a curious tone of voice, and sniffing as if the odour still remained in his nostrils. "Hum! I shouldn't advise the young lady to sprinkle her handkerchief too freely with that sort of essence, unless she wishes to be a member of 'kingdom come!'" CHAPTER XII THE FIGURE IN THE GREY CLOAK On descending next morning to the drawing-room, I found Angelo there before me, the idol of a crowd of æsthetic young ladies who adored art (and especially the artist) without understanding much about either. He was exhibiting to their admiring gaze the contents of his portfolio and unless my eyesight deceived me, it was the identical portfolio he had displayed to me on that memorable wedding morning. It had been my intention to question the artist on that singular utterance of his when he first parted from Daphne: "You are nearer to him now than you have been for months;" but as I saw that he purposely ignored me, I imitated his example, and ignored him. I was curious to see how he would receive Daphne on this occasion--their first meeting after her refusal of him; but he manifested no signs of embarrassment when she appeared, and acknowledged her presence with an air so grave and stately that none, seeing him, would ever have guessed that he had at one time made passionate love to her. Daphne was confused and blushed a little, and was not sorry, I think, when, at the sound of the breakfast-bell, I relieved her of his presence by escorting her to the table, taking care to put as many feet of mahogany as I could between her and the artist, who had for his partner the lively Florrie. During breakfast the conversation turned on the mysterious apparition of the preceding night, and Daphne was twitted by the ladies for her fright; but the Baronet, noticing how agitated she became and how distasteful the subject was to her, came to her aid, and, declaring that he would not allow her to be teased, diverted the conversation to another channel. "When do you expect to finish your picture?" he said, turning to Angelo. "Within a few days: perhaps a few hours." Perhaps a few hours! Such an answer implied that it was within the range of probability for the completion of his picture to take place on Christmas Day--that is, on the very anniversary of the day on which he had finished his last masterpiece. This coincidence of dates was certainly remarkable, and my uncle could not help reverting to it. "Christmas is a favorite time with you," he remarked. "Your last great work, if I remember rightly, received its final touch on Christmas Day."