said it was one of his, I thought it must be the original of a magazine drawing or something like Oh!"
Archie had moved back and given her an uninterrupted view of the work of art, and she had started as if some unkindly disposed person had driven a bradawl into her.
"Pretty ripe, what?" said Archie enthusiastically.
Lucille did not speak for a moment. It may have been sudden joy that kept her silent. Or, on the other hand, it may not. She stood looking at the picture with wide eyes and parted lips.
"A bird, eh?" said Archie.
"Y-yes," said Lucille.
"I knew you'd like it," proceeded Archie with animation. "You see, you're by way of being a picture-hound—know all about the things, and what not—inherit it from the dear old dad, I shouldn't wonder. Personally, I can't tell one picture from another as a rule, but I'm bound to say, the moment I set eyes on this, I said to myself 'What ho!' or words to that effect. I rather think this will add a touch of distinction to the home, yes, no? I'll hang it up, shall I? 'Phone down to the office, light of my soul, and tell them to send up a nail, a bit of string, and the hotel hammer."
"One moment, darling. I'm not quite sure."
"Eh?"
"Where it ought to hang, I mean. You see"
"Over the piano, you said. The jolly old piano."
"Yes, but I hadn't seen it then."
A monstrous suspicion flitted for an instant into Archie's mind.
"I say, you do like it, don't you?" he said anxiously.
"Oh, Archie, darling! Of course I do! And it was so
