One of the coolies held the paper lantern. "Why, first," rejoined Austin, "there's Sir James Thornhill, historical painter to his Majesty, and the greatest artist of the day. A moment before, the surface of the stream was black as ink. You see me here, an admitted failure in the object to which I have devoted two years of my life. ‘I have Joan to tell me how much I look like Mary. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. Others pulled hats over their noses, cowered in their seats, and feigned that all was right with the world. Ann Veronica stood in the twilight room staring at the door that had slammed upon her aunt, her pocket-handkerchief rolled tightly in her hand.
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