"We haven't got any Millet yet, but that morning thing over there is a
Corot--at least, we think so. I was going to ask one of the French
commissioners about it last summer, but my nerve gave out at the last
minute. Mr. Bates bought it on his own responsibility. I let him go
ahead, for, after all, people of our position would naturally be expected
to have a Corot. I don't dare tell you what he paid for it. If I
did"--she pointed to their joint reflection in the opposite mirror--"we
should have a fretful porcupine here in no time."

"Don't, then," pleaded Jane, looking at her own reflection and clasping
her hands across her forehead; "this miserable bang gives me enough
trouble as it is."

"There's some more high art," said Mrs. Bates, with a wave of her hand
towards the opposite wall. "Carolus-Duran; fifty thousand francs; and he
wouldn't let me pick out my own costume, either. You have never seen me
on dress-parade; take a look at me now." She gathered up the tail of her
gown and modestly scuttled out of the room.

Poor dowdy Jane stood in silent awe before this sumptuous canvas, with
her long, interlaced fingers strenuously tugging at each other and her
wide eyes half popping from her head. She was as completely overpowered
and shattered as an uncouth and angular raft under the thunderous
downpour of Niagara. Presently she turned; Mrs. Bates stood peeping in
from without, her eyes all a-twinkle.

"And now," she said, "let's go up-stairs." Jane followed her, too dazed
to speak or even to smile.