"Oh, yes! I remember her well enough; but, Jack, I can't go to the opera,
much as I should like it. You see it would not look well," touching the
crape band on his hat.

"No, no, of course not," said Jack hurriedly; "pray pardon me, how stupid
I am; but I know what we can do. I have tickets for a conversazione at
the Academy to-morrow--there can be no harm in your going to that. I hear
there are some very good things at the Academy this year."

"Yes, so I heard, I have not been there yet."

"Every one is in ecstasies over a painting by a man called Lacroix; they
say it's the best thing that has been on view for a long time."

"What! painted by a man called Eugène Lacroix? Does he come from Father
Point?"

"Yes. My dear McAllister, you Canadians are having it all your own way in
London this year. Whether it is this Colonial Exhibition, or whether you
are all extremely gifted people, I don't know."

"What is Eugène Lacroix like?" asked The McAllister. "I used to know him
a long time ago. He was a quiet sort of man then."

"He is quiet yet. He won't go out anywhere, but works, works all the
time. Sometimes he comes to tea at my mother's on Sunday afternoon, but
that is the only time we see anything of him. Mademoiselle Laurentia
introduced him to us. All the Academy people speak well of him, strange
to say, for he is a foreigner, and they are prejudiced against outsiders,