She began to entertain new ideas of her companion’s consequence. The carriage dashed boldly through the narrow streets, until it emerged from them into the more fashionable and crowded thoroughfares.
Mary found sufficient to amuse her in the splendid carriages, many of them surmounted with a coronet, all hastening in the same direction with themselves. There was an unusual number in the streets,—a circumstance which was easily explained by the interest and curiosity which had been awakened by the exhibition.
At length, they reached the magnificent hall in which it was to be held. The porter bowed deferentially to Mr. Sedley as he made way for him to pass.
And now they are in the room. What a magnificent collection! It represented the combined genius of the British artists, nearly all of whom had contributed to it. Mary, who, though no artist, had caught something of the spirit from her husband, looked about her in speechless admiration.
“This is indeed grand!” said she, at last. “It surpasses my highest expectations.”
“It is indeed,” said Mr. Sedley. “England has good cause to be proud of her artists. But see! do you not recognize an old acquaintance?”
Mary looked, and, to her unbounded surprise, beheld “The Transfiguration of Christ”—her husband’s painting—suspended against the wall. Mr. Sedley hastened to explain.
“I thought it a pity,” he said, “that so fine a picture should be lost to the exhibition. I accordingly hired an artist to give it the last touches, and had it brought here.”