<blockquote>
<p align=right>Alton College, Lyvern.</p align>
Sir—In answer to your letter of the 12th instant, I
am instructed by Miss Wilson to inform you that Mr. Jack was engaged here for ten months as professor of music and elocution. At the end of that period he refused to impart any further musical instruction, to three young ladies who desired a set of finishing lessons. He therefore considered himself bound to vacate his post, though Miss Wilson desires me to state expressly that she did not insist on that course. She has much pleasure in testifying to the satisfactory manner in which Mr. Jack maintained his authority in the school. He is an exacting teacher, but a patient and thoroughly capable one. During his stay at Alton College, his general conduct was irreproachable, and his marked personal influence gained for him the respect and good wishes of his pupils.— I am, sir, your obedient servant, Phillis Ward, F.C.P., etc.
<p align=right>14 West Precinct, Lipport Cathedral, South Wales.</p align> Sir— Mr. Owen Jack is a native of this town, and was, in his boyhood, a member of the Cathedral Choir. He is respectably connected, and is personally known to me as a strictly honorable young man. He has musical talent of a certain kind, and is undoubtedly qualified to teach the rudiments of music, though he never, whilst under our guidance, gave any serious consideration to the higher forms of composition— more, I should add, from natural ineptitude than from want of energy and perseverance. I should be glad to hear of his obtaining a good position.— Yours truly, John Burton, Mus. Doc,
</blockquote>
On Thursday afternoon Herbert stood before his
easel, watching the light changing on his picture as
the clouds shifted in the wind. At moments when the
effect on the color pleased him, he wished that Mary
would enter and see it so at her first glance. But as
the afternoon wore it became duller; and when she at
last arrived, he felt sorry he had not appointed one
o'clock instead of three. She was accompanied by a
tall lad of sixteen, with light blue eyes, fair hair, and
an expression of irreverent good humor.
"How do you do" said Herbert. "Take care of those sketches, Charlie, old fellow. They are wet."
"Papa felt very tired: he thought it best to lie down
for a little," said Mary, throwing off her cloak and
appearing in a handsome dress of marmalade-colored
silk. "He left the arrangements with Mr Jack to
you. I suspect the dread of having to confront that
mysterious stranger again had something to do with
his fatigue. Is the Lady of Shalott ready to be seen?"
"The light is bad, I am sorry to say," said Herbert, lingering whilst Mary made a movement towards the easel.
"Don't push into the room like that, Mary," said
Charlie. "Artists always have models in their studios. Give the young lady time to dress herself."
"There is a gleam of sunshine now," said Herbert, gravely, ignoring the lad. "Better have your first look at it while it lasts."
Mary placed herself before the easel, and gazed
earnestly at it, finding that expression the easiest mask
for a pang of disappointment which followed her first
glance at the canvas. Herbert did not interrupt her
for some moments. Then he said in a low voice: "You
understand her action, do you not?"
"Yes. She has just seen the reflexion of Lancelot's
figure in the mirror; and she is turning round to look
at the reality."
"She has a deuce of a scraggy collar-bone," said
Charlie.
"Oh, hush, Charlie," cried Mary, dreading that her
brother might roughly express her own thoughts. "It seems quite right to me."
"The action of turning to look over her shoulder
brings out the clavicle," said Herbert, smiling. "It
is less prominent in the picture than it would be in
nature: I had to soften it a little."
"Why didn't you paint her in some other attitude?" said Charlie.
"Because I happened to be aiming at the seizure of
a poetic moment, and not at the representation of a
pretty bust, my critical young friend," said Herbert
quietly. "I think you are a little too close to the
canvas, Miss Sutherland. Remember: the picture is not
quite finished."