'I know one doesn't like to be untidy.

But it isn't really the least untidy--It is only delightful--perfectly delightful!' Her voice, her manner charmed the girl's annoyance.
'If you like it'-- she said, hesitating--'But it will come down!' 'I like it terribly--and it will not think of coming down! Let me show you Mr.Manisty's latest purchase.' And, slipping her arm inside Miss Foster's, Mrs.Burgoyne dexterously turned her away from the glass, and brought her to the large central table, where a vivid charcoal sketch, supported on a small easel, rose among the litter of books.
It represented an old old man carried in a chair on the shoulders of a crowd of attendants and guards.

Soldiers in curved helmets, courtiers in short velvet cloaks and ruffs, priests in floating vestments pressed about him--a dim vast multitude stretched into the distance.

The old man wore a high cap with three lines about it; his thin and shrunken form was enveloped in a gorgeous robe.

The face, infinitely old, was concentrated in the sharply smiling eyes, the long, straight, secret mouth.