Presently Frank speaks again.
"Are those two"-- (slightly indicating by a faint nod the figures in front of us)--"the two you expected ?--Are these--what are their names ?--_Algy_ and _Barbara_ ?" "Yes," say I, smiling, with recovered equanimity; "Algy and Barbara." A little pause.

"You can judge for yourself now," say I, laughing rather nervously, "whether I spoke truth--whether Barbara is as like the St.
Catherine as I told you." For a moment he does not answer.

"Of course," I say, rather crestfallen, "the bonnet makes a difference; the likeness is much more striking when it is off." "The St.Catherine!" he repeats, with a puzzled air, "_what_ St.
Catherine?
I am afraid you will think me very stupid, but I really am quite at sea." "Do you mean to say," cry I, reddening with mortification, "that you forget--that you do not remember that St.Catherine of Palma Vecchio's in the Dresden Gallery that I always pointed out to you as having such a look of Barbara?
Well, you _have_ a short memory!" "Have I ?" he answers, dryly; "perhaps for _some_ things; for _others_, I fancy that mine is a good deal longer than yours." "It might easily be that," I answer, recovering from my temporary annoyance and laughing; "I suppose you mean for books and dates, and things of that kind.

Well, you may easily beat me there.

The landing of William the Conqueror, and the battle of Waterloo, were the only two dates I ever succeeded in mastering, and that was only after the struggle of years." "Dates!" he says, impatiently, "pshaw! I was not thinking of _them_! I was thinking of Dresden!" "Are you so sure that you could beat me there ?" ask I, thoughtfully; "I do not know about that! I think I could stand a pretty stiff examination; but perhaps you are talking of the pictures and the names of the artists.