'It will be my likeness,' he repeated to himself. 'I had it done for her by Mr. Zincke. I was right, Nick; she has forgiven me altogether.'
Mr. Wogan's head was now well above the window-sill, and he looked downwards upon Rose, who sat at the table.
'Yes, it's a likeness,' said Nick.
'I told you. I told you,' said the Parson. The man began to wriggle with satisfaction. 'You are wrong, Nick. You know nothing at all about women, after all. Come down, you vainglorious boaster.' It seemed he was about to cut capers with Mr. Wogan on his shoulders.
'Wait,' said Nick suddenly, and hitched himself higher.
'Nick, she will see you.'
'No, she's occupied. George!'
'What is it?'
'It's Lady Oxford's miniature she is staring at, and not yours at all.'
The Parson grew quite stiff and rigid.