She could never bring herself to believe that her nose was pretty,
although in the seclusion of her chamber she had frankly criticised
her reflected image; and perhaps it _was_ a trifle too small for most
critics. Still, her admirers declared that, especially in profile,
it was delightfully piquant, and vastly preferable to the
uninteresting aquilines which adorned the countenances of her mother
and brother. A provoking, childish, charming face, when all was
said; it was not wonderful that Lightmark would fain put it upon
canvas. And, indeed, so far as the young girl herself was concerned,
he had already a conditional promise. She had no objection whatever
to make, provided that Charles was first consulted; only she had no
dress that would meet the occasion. And when Lightmark protested
that the airy white garment, with here and there a suggestion of
cream-coloured lace and sulphur ribbons, which she was wearing, was
entirely right, she scouted the idea with scorn.

"This old frock, Mr. Lightmark," she exclaimed, with a pretty
display of disdain for his taste, "why, I've worn the old thing for
months! No; if Charles says I may have my portrait painted, I shall
go straight off to Madame Sophie, and then you may paint me and send
me to the Academy or Grosvenor in all my glory."

Lightmark had found it quite useless to protest, well as he knew
that the ordinary French milliner can be warranted to succeed in
producing a garment almost as unpaintable as a masculine black
frock-coat.

On the afternoon of the day after Rainham's return to the dock,
Lightmark was caressing his fair moustache upon the doorstep of the