He did not reply: he was untying the strings of a large portfolio, and looking over the sketches and drawings it contained. His sister called him to her side with an air of concern. "Was he sure Mary Stuart had a velvet robe on? She hoped it was not a mistake. Critics are such harpies, you know," she added with a sigh, "they would pounce on a mistake directly."
He laid his hand on her shoulder, and, with a kind smile, looked down at her upraised face.
"Make your mind easy, Kate; Mary Stuart died in a velvet robe, which, poor thing, she kept for solemn occasions."
Miss O'Reilly's face brightened.
"Indeed I am glad to hear it; the imitation is perfect; real velvet could not have more depth and softness. How much pains you must have taken with it!"
"Yes, it gave me some trouble."
"But how sorry I am, the other pictures are sold!"
"It could not be helped! I wanted the money."
"Yes, but it has kept you in the shade all this time. What a pity Mary
Stuart was not finished for this year's Academy!"
She looked at him so earnestly that he reddened.