as we saw it that day, before a stroke of it was on the canvas."

"In your left hand, you shall hold the mirror, but you shall not be
looking into it; because you never look into mirrors, dear Duchess,
excepting to see whether the scolding you are giving your maid, as
she stands behind you, is making her cry; and whether that is why
she is being so clumsy in her manipulation of pins and things. If it
is, you promptly promise her a day off, to go and see her old
mother; and pay her journey there and back. If it isn't, you scold
her some more. Were I the maid, I should always cry, large tears
warranted to show in the glass; only I should not sniff, because
sniffing is so intensely aggravating; and I should be most
frightfully careful that my tears did not run down your neck."

"Dal, you ridiculous CHILD!" said the duchess. "Leave off talking
about my maids, and my neck, and your crocodile tears, and finish
describing the portrait. What do I do, with the mirror?"

"You do not look into it," continued Garth Dalmain, meditatively;
"because we KNOW that is a thing you never do. Even when you put on
that hat, and tie those ribbons--Miss Champion, I wish you would
hold my hand--in a bow under your chin, you don't consult the
mirror. But you shall sit with it in your left hand, your elbow
resting on an Eastern table of black ebony inlaid with mother-of-
pearl. You will turn it from you, so that it reflects something
exactly in front of you in the imaginary foreground. You will be
looking at this unseen object with an expression of sublime
affection. And in the mirror I will paint a vivid, brilliant,
complete reflection, minute, but perfect in every detail, of your
scarlet macaw on his perch. We will call it 'Reflections,' because