The painters _we_ throve by had died long enough ago for pedigrees to get confused, and identities disputable; and if I had been desirous of really purchasing a genuine Old Master for myself--speaking as a practical man--I don't know where I should have gone to ask for one, or whose judgment I could have safely relied on to guard me from being cheated, before I bought it.
We are stopping a long time in the picture-gallery, you will say.

I am very sorry--but we must stay a little longer, for the sake of a living picture, the gem of the collection.
I was still admiring Mr.Pickup's Old Masters, when a dirty little boy opened the door of the gallery, and introduced a young lady.
My heart--fancy my having a heart!--gave one great bound in me.

I recognized the charming person whom I had followed in the street.
Her veil was not down this time.

All the beauty of her large, soft, melancholy, brown eyes beamed on me.

Her delicate complexion became suddenly suffused with a lovely rosy flush.