The letter suggested an idea worth considering. Rayel worked
rapidly and had already painted more pictures than we could
hang to advantage in any but the most liberal quarters. He
was at a loss to understand just what was meant by selling
the pictures, but he was willing to sell them if they were
not to be destroyed--at least some of them. Accordingly I
wrote Mr. Paddington, appointing an hour when we would be
glad to see him or his representative at our rooms. The
gentleman himself did us the honor to call. After looking at
the paintings, he expressed his willingness to buy the
entire collection. I told him, however, that we would not
part with more than ten canvases, and he seemed glad to buy
even that number at a price which was so far in excess of
our expectations that I was loath to accept it. Our beloved
"Woman"--that was the title we had given Rayel's strangely
derived conception--was among the paintings included in the
sale to Mr. Paddington. Rayel thought he could reproduce it,
and for days after it was gone he made ineffectual efforts
to paint another woman after the ideal of our hearts. But,
alas! try as he would, that face never came back to his
canvas. Many beautiful faces were conjured by his masterful
touch, but they were other faces, and none of them satisfied
us. The failure made Rayel unhappy, and tears came to his
eyes when the "Woman" was referred to, as if he were
mourning the loss of a dear friend.

Our patron had conceived a great liking for us, and we were
soon invited to visit his house "and meet a few of his
friends at dinner." It would give us an opportunity to see