the advantage of me; I fear half a century has been less gentle to me."
"That," said Jane, "is where the model of the "Fortune of the Indies used to hang."
She had not meant to introduce the burning issue quite so abruptly, but there was no help for it now. Mr. Bolliver turned and scrutinized the picture which replaced the ship.
"Ah, yes," he murmured, "a fine old print, quite rare. And that's another, a delightful one, there beside the cabinet."
With which he stepped firmly across the room to peer at the other engraving. The wind was certainly taken out of Jane's sails. She could scarcely, with courtesy, drag the Fortune of the Indies back, stern first, as it were, now that she had been so summarily disposed of as a topic of conversation. So Jane professed an interest in prints and hoped for another chance.
It did not come before there was a fumbling at the latch, the front door swung open, and the two old ladies stood in the hall. Mr. Bolliver gathered up his sweet peas, and, ensconcing himself trimly in the doorway, held them
