For the face under her gaze she could find but one expression—fine. They showered together. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. Her eyes flashed. “Afterwards,” she said, “I should be perfectly content to have everything done for me. That's the kind, my friend, that always fall soft. Now you can understand why every minute is a torture to me. Look! Is that some one coming out?” The front door of the flats stood open, and through it a woman, slim and veiled, passed on to the pavement and turned with swift footsteps in the opposite direction.
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