The man pulled up his horse grumbling, and turned round. I can’t explain—” They regarded one another, each blinded to the other. Do you know whoso portrait this is?" "I do not," replied Thames, repressing his tears, "but I believe it to be the portrait of my father. This helped to restore Ann Veronica’s self-command. Concealed among the trees that edged the estate grounds, the watchers paused. His nose was large but also fine and angular, tapering to a point at the end like a nobleman’s. Had he had the child to think of, he might have recovered from his grief at Mary’s death. So the talk went on. “Yes,” she said at last, “it is firm and affectionate.
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