A long, old-fashioned, richly-furnished room was displayed, and, standing in the midst of the grandeur, plainly dressed, proud and upright, a young man in the costume of the present-day. He was handsome, and had a fine, open, resolute face. The expression of earnest, attentive, eager waiting, not degenerating into anxiety or servility, was admirable. Nothing showed that he was nervous—he had not taken the trouble to get himself up in visiting costume. It appeared that he had been walking: his shoes were dusty and travel-soiled, his dress a rather shabby grey suit, hands gloveless, wrists cuffless, nothing either costly or fashionable about him; and yet, one of nature’s gentlemen. His white straw-hat lies on a table beside him. He has been speaking, you see, probably strongly, earnestly, and ardently, and now he waits the answer. The young lady who stands before him, in a highly fashionable costume of the present day, as rich and costly as his is poor and worn, holds a fan in one hand, and with the other seems to be half closing it. The attitude is one of reflection, of pausing; the eyes are downcast. Will she say ‘Yes,’ or ‘No’? Beautiful groups of vine-reapers, primæval forests, and historical legends have their charms, no doubt; but a yet more potent spell is excited when the poetry is touched which underlies this present-day life of ours—when romance is manifest, clothed in a grey tweed suit and a fashionable afternoon costume. He is unabashed by her wealth and splendour. Will she resent his audacity, or accept it? In the painting there was a sweet mystery: none could say, from looking at it, what course would be taken by that fair lady. Sara Ford was perhaps thinking of some past scene. There was the shadow of an expression upon her face which caused a murmur: ‘After all, she will say yes.’ It was at this juncture—just when the interest was deepest, when necks were being craned forward, and whispers exchanged—comments upon him and her: ‘How well Ludwig does it!’—‘Of course she will say yes!’—‘How _wild_ Amalia Waldschmidt would be if she saw Ludwig now!’ and so on, that Professor Wilhelmi, accompanied by another man, returned to his seat. There was an empty chair next to Avice Wellfield, and the stranger took it, and fixed his eyes upon the _lebendes Bild_ on the stage. Suddenly the face of the lady became no more like the face of a picture. It changed—it was certainly a living face. Most distinctly her eyes moved, her expression altered; some persons said afterwards that she had started, but that may be a libel. What is quite certain is, that the expression of the face did change, and that the gentleman who had come in with Professor Wilhelmi turned to Avice Wellfield with a smile, and remarked in a low voice: ‘Miss Ford has recognised me, and is so surprised to see me that she has moved.’ ‘Do you know Miss Ford?’ asked Avice, not moving her eyes from the picture.