only relieved from being too intense by the scarlet hood of an opera
cloak, that was drawn over them. "A sister," I thought to myself, "it
is too modern for his mother," and I took a step nearer to see if I
could trace any likeness in the chiselled features of this disdainful
brunette, to the more characteristic ones of the careless gentleman
who had stood but a few moments before in my presence. As I did so, I
was struck with the distance with which the picture stood out from
the wall, and thought to myself that the awkwardness of the framing
came near marring the beauty of this otherwise lovely work of art. As
for the likeness I was in search of, I found it or thought I did, in
the expression of the eyes which were of the same color as Mr. Blake's
but more full and passionate; and satisfied that I had exhausted all
the picture could tell me, I turned to make what other observations I
could, when I was startled by confronting the agitated countenance of
Mrs. Daniels who had entered behind me.

"This is Mr. Blake's room," said she with dignity; "no one ever
intrudes here but myself, not even the servants."

"I beg pardon," said I, glancing around in vain for the something
which had awakened that look of satisfaction in Mr. Gryce's eyes. "I
was attracted by the beauty of this picture visible through the half
open door and stepped in to favor myself with a nearer view. It is
very lovely. A sister of Mr. Blake?"

"No, his cousin;" and she closed the door after us with an emphasis
that proclaimed she was anything but pleased.

It was my last effort to obtain information on my own account. In a
few moments later Mr. Gryce appeared from below, and a conversation