“What is your age?”

“From thirteen——”

“An orphan?”

“Preferably.”

“I will discuss the affair presently with my wife,” Canon Sinquier said, turning in meditation his steps towards the wicket-gate.

“Before leaving your charming city, Canon, I should like beyond everything to visit the episcopal Palace: Sally used often to speak of the art-treasures there.”

“Art-treasures?”

“Old pictures!”

“Are you an amateur of old pictures?”

“Indeed I am. My husband once—Paul—he paid a perfect fortune for a Dutch painting; and will you believe me, Canon! It was only of the back view of a horse.”