I said first, "Take a chair, Mr. Rivers." But he answered, as he always did, that he could not stay. "Very well," I responded, mentally, "stand if you like; but you shall not go just yet, I am determined: solitude is at least as bad for you as it is for me. I'll try if I cannot discover the secret spring of your confidence, and find an aperture in that marble breast through which I can shed one drop of the balm of sympathy."

     "Is this portrait like?" I asked bluntly.

     "Like! Like whom? I did not observe it closely."

     "You did, Mr. Rivers."

     He almost started at my sudden and strange abruptness: he looked at me astonished. "Oh, that is nothing yet," I muttered within. "I don't mean to be baffled by a little stiffness on your part; I'm prepared to go to considerable lengths." I continued, "You observed it closely and distinctly; but I have no objection to your looking at it again," and I rose and placed it in his hand.

     "A well-executed picture," he said; "very soft, clear colouring; very graceful and correct drawing."

     "Yes, yes; I know all that. But what of the resemblance? Who is it like?"