the tone in which her ladyship spoke after giving me a silent look. It
seemed to come to me out of a distance immeasurably removed from Holbein.
"Mrs. Brash isn't my 'companion' in the sense you appear to mean. She's
my rather near relation and a very dear old friend. I love her--and you
must know her."

"Know her? Rather! Why to see her is to want on the spot to 'go' for
her. She also must sit for me,"

"_She_? Louisa Brash?" If Lady Beldonald had the theory that her beauty
directly showed it when things weren't well with her, this impression,
which the fixed sweetness of her serenity had hitherto struck me by no
means as justifying, gave me now my first glimpse of its grounds. It was
as if I had never before seen her face invaded by anything I should have
called an expression. This expression moreover was of the faintest--was
like the effect produced on a surface by an agitation both deep within
and as yet much confused. "Have you told her so?" she then quickly
asked, as if to soften the sound of her surprise.

"Dear no, I've but just noticed her--Outreau, a moment ago put me on her.
But we're both so taken, and he also wants--"

"To _paint_ her?" Lady Beldonald uncontrollably murmured.

"Don't be afraid we shall fight for her," I returned with a laugh for
this tone. Mrs. Brash was still where I could see her without appearing
to stare, and she mightn't have seen I was looking at her, though her
protectress, I'm afraid, could scarce have failed of that certainty. "We
must each take our turn, and at any rate she's a wonderful thing, so that
if you'll let her go to Paris Outreau promises her there--"