say, of a philosopher. Isn't that true, Helen?"

"Perfectly, papa," she replied, with a smile of arch humor, which, to
Reilly, placed her character in a new light.

"Perfectly true, papa, so far as you have gone; but I trust you will
finish the portrait for Mr. Reilly."

"Well, then, I will. Where was I? Oh, yes--tall, thin, and serious; like
a philosopher. I'll go next to the shoulders, because Helen seems to
like them--they are a little round or so. I, myself, wish to goodness
they were somewhat straighter, but Helen says the curve is delightful,
being what painters and glaziers call the line of beauty."

A sweet light laugh, that rang with the melody of a musical bell, broke
from Helen at this part of the description, in which, to tell the truth,
she was joined by Reilly. The old man himself, from sheer happiness and
good-humor, joined them both, though utterly ignorant of the cause of
their mirth.

"Aye, aye," he exclaimed, "you may laugh--by the great Boyne, I knew I
would make you laugh. Well, I'll go on; his complexion is of a--a--no
matter--of a good standing color, at all events; his nose, I grant you,
is as thin, and much of the same color, as pasteboard, but as a set-off
to that it's a thorough Williamite. Isn't that true, Helen?"

"Yes, papa; but I think King William's nose was the worst feature in his
face, although that certainly cannot be said of Sir Robert."

"Do you hear that, Reilly? I wish Sir Robert heard it, but I'll tell