It was a charming apartment with hangings of pale blue satin that made a perfect foil to the pearl-fair beauty of Bonnibel.
The chairs and sofas were upholstered in the same rich material; the carpet was white velvet, sprinkled over with blue forget-me-nots; the costly white lace curtains were draped over blue satin, and the bright fire burning in the silver grate shone upon expensive gilding and delicate bric-a-brac scattered profusely about the room.
A marble Flora, half buried in flowers, stood in a niche, and vases of delicate white lilies were on the marble mantel.
The young mistress of all this beauty and wealth so tastefully combined, as she sat near the fire with an open book, looked like a gem set in an appropriate shrine, so fair, and pure, and dainty, was her person and her apparel.
She looked up with a slight smile as her liege lord's fretful ejaculation fell upon her ears.
"What person has been so unfortunate as to incur your displeasure?" she inquired.
"The artist of whom I purchased that splendid picture for the drawing-room—the last one, you know."
"Yes," she said, languidly; "and what has he done now?"
"I wanted him to paint your portrait, you know."