"It is a real hero-face," said the young lady, frankly; "not a mean line in it."
Starke had drawn the boy between his knees, and was playing roughly with him.
"There never shall be one, with God's help," he thought, but said nothing.
Richard was "a hobby" of Dr. Bowdler's, his niece perceived.
"His very hair is like a mane," he said; "he's as uncouth as a young giant that don't feel his strength. I say this, Mary: that the boy will never be goodish and weak: he'll be greatly good or greatly bad."
The young lady noticed how intently Starke listened; she wondered if he had forgotten entirely his own God-sent mission, and turned baby-tender altogether.
"What has become of your model, Mr. Starke?" she asked.
Dr. Bowdler looked up uneasily; it was a subject he never had dared to touch.
"Andrew keeps it," said Starke, with a smile, "for the sake of old times, side by side with his lantern, I believe."
"You never work with it?"