Prudence shook her head. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. Anna rummaged about in her dressingcase, and finally drew out a letter. Spurlock felt very well pleased with himself. Down in my part of the world it's all a man has to go by. ‘Point it at me. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. ’ Lucy was silent for a space, once again wearing that inscrutable expression. I was ready to wager that your name would have marched with one of them.
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