His daughter had thrown off her mantle and disclosed a face of the finest and most delicate Italian beauty, which soon drew Ford's eyes from the pictures in front of him.
Alleyne, however, continued with little cries of admiration and of wonderment to turn from the walls to the table and yet again to the walls.
"What think you of this, young sir ?" asked the painter, tearing off the cloth which concealed the flat object which he had borne beneath his arm.

It was a leaf-shaped sheet of glass bearing upon it a face with a halo round it, so delicately outlined, and of so perfect a tint, that it might have been indeed a human face which gazed with sad and thoughtful eyes upon the young squire.

He clapped his hands, with that thrill of joy which true art will ever give to a true artist.
"It is great!" he cried.

"It is wonderful! But I marvel, sir, that you should have risked a work of such beauty and value by bearing it at night through so unruly a crowd." "I have indeed been rash," said the artist.

"Some wine, Tita, from the Florence flask! Had it not been for you, I tremble to think of what might have come of it.