“My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. The postilion obeyed, and dashed off as hard as his horses could gallop along the beautiful road leading to Neasdon and Willesden, just as the serving-men made their appearance. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. But, no. There must be ways of getting rid of him. Stark and stark! Do you remember it all?. It was equally as beautiful but not quite so fine as the daughter's. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention.
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