took to each other at once, and talked as familiarly as if the retired
lawyer and the rising painter were old fellow-travellers along the same
road of life. Darrell was really an exquisite judge of art, and his
praise was the more gratifying because discriminating. Of course he gave
the due meed of panegyric to the female heads, by which the artist had
become so renowned. Lionel took his kinsman aside, and, with a mournful
expression of face, showed him the portrait by which, all those varying
ideals had been suggested--the portrait of Sophy as Titania.

"And that is Lionel," said the artist, pointing to the rough outline of
Bottom.

"Pish!" said Lionel, angrily. Then turning to Darrell: "This is the
Sophy we have failed to find, sir--is it not a lovely face?"

"It is indeed," said Darrell. "But that nameless refinement in
expression--that arch yet tender elegance in the simple, watchful
attitude--these, Mr. Vance, must he your additions to the original."

"No, I assure you, sir," said Lionel: "besides that elegance, that
refinement, there was a delicacy in the look and air of that child to
which Vance failed to do justice. Own it, Frank."

"Reassure yourself, Mr. Darrell," said Vance, "of any fears which
Lionel's enthusiasm might excite. He tells me that Titania is in
America; yet, after all, I would rather he saw her again--no cure for
love at first sight like a second sight of the beloved object after a
long absence."

DARRELL (somewhat gravely).--"A hazardous remedy--it might kill, if it