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24 WILD MARGARET.
He looked at her, not curiously—the Earl of Ferrers,
At famed for his exquisite courtesy, could not have done
hy that—but with a newly-born interest.
Li. ‘““Yes?. Do you recognize other masters here? — This, for
instance,’’ and he raised his hand; it stood out like snow
in front of the violet velvet, and a large amethyst on the
| forefinger gleamed redly in the downward light.
i ‘That is a Carlo Dolci, my lord; but not a very good:
Hi one.”’
Al ‘‘ Right in both assertions,’’ he said, withasmile. “ And
id this?” .
f! ‘“A Rubens, and a very fine one,’ she said, forgetting
his presence and grandeur, and approaching the picture,
“I have never seen more beautiful coloring in a Rubens—
but I have not seen the Continental galleries. It would ~~
look better still if it were not hung so near that De la
Roche; the two clash. Now, if the other Rubens-on the
opposite side were placed ”” but she remembered herself,
and stopped suddenly, confused and shamefaced.
‘‘ Pray go on,”’ he said gently. ‘‘ You would hang them
side by side. Yes. You are right! Tell me who painted
this!” and he inclined his head toward a heavy battle —
piece.
‘‘I do not know, my lord,” said Margaret.
He smiled. oo f
‘It is a pleasant discovery to find that your knowledge
is not illimitable,”’ he said. " ‘* It is a Wouvermans.””
Margaret looked at it, and her brows came together,
after a fashion peculiar to her when she was thinking
deeply, displeased, or silent under pressure.
‘* Well?” he said, as if he had read her thoughts; ‘‘ what
would you say?’
‘‘ It is not 2 Wouvermans, my lord,” she said.
h The earl smiled, and stood with folded hands regarding
er. / .
‘No, my lord. That is, I think not. It is not even a
_ copy, but an imitation—oh, forgive me!” she broke off,
blushing. ; .
‘No, no!”’ he said, gently; ‘there is nothing to forgive,
IS Tell me why you think so? But I warn you—’’ and he
smiled with mock gravity—“ this picture cost several
| thousand pounds!” ; .
“T can’t help it,’’ said Margaret, desperate on behalf of
truth. ‘‘It is not a Wouvermans! He never painted a
| horse like that—never! I have copied dozens of his
A pictures. I should know a horse of his if I met it in the
streets, my lord,’ and her eyebrows came together again
in almost piteous assertion.
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