"No," replied Celia. "I should like to do so. I should like to try to

thank him for his kindness to me."

Mrs. Dexter smiled.

"I don't think he would like that, my dear. Great people don't like

being thanked. At least, that's my experience," she repeated. "I will

show you his lordship's portrait, if you like," she said, as they passed

into the hall. "It is growing dark here; that painted window keeps out

the light."

She switched on the electric light, and directed Celia's attention to

the row of family portraits.

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"I'll tell you who they all are some day," she said. "That is the

present Marquess, at the end there."

Celia went to it and looked at it with interest.

"He has a nice face," she said.

"Yes, it is a good-looking family, as you see," said Mrs. Dexter, with a

smile.

Celia's eyes wandered from the portrait of the Marquess to the one

hanging next to it. It was the picture of a young man dressed in riding

kit. He was a handsome lad, with a dare-devil look in his dark eyes, a

hint of wildness, of recklessness and defiance, in the carriage of his

head, the curve of his lips.

"That is a very beautiful picture," said Celia.

"Yes; it is one of the best in the gallery," said Mrs. Dexter. "It is

the portrait of the Marquess's brother--his elder brother. He was very

wild, and caused the family much trouble. He is dead, of course, or he

would have been the marquess instead of his present lordship."

"He is very handsome," said Celia. "I suppose that is why one feels so

sorry for him."

She moved away from the picture as she spoke; but presently, as if drawn

by it, she returned to it.

"The picture interests you?" said Mrs. Dexter, with a smile. "That is

always the way with us women, my dear. It is always the wild and wicked

men who attract us."

"Oh, but that's a libel, surely," said Celia. "No; I think you are

right. But how foolish of us, if it is true."

She turned away and went towards the great fireplace where the logs were

now burning; but after a moment or two, as she stood with her foot on

the fender, she looked again over her shoulder at the picture.

"It is very strange," she said, "but I have a curious feeling that I

have seen someone very like--no, not very like, but bearing a faint

likeness to that portrait."




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