She spoke with a tone that betrayed how little pleasure she expected, though it strove to be uncomplaining; and Julius, who had learnt something of poor Frank’s state of jealous misery, heartily wished the Strangeways family further, regarding the intimacy as a manoeuvre of Lady Tyrrell’s, and doubting how far all Eleonora’s evident struggles would keep her out of the net; and though while talking to her he had not the slightest doubt of her sincerity, he had not long set her down at the lodge before he remembered that she was a Vivian.

Meantime Rosamond, carrying some medicament to old Betty Reynolds, found the whole clan in excitement at the appearance of Joe in all his buttons, looking quite as honest and innocent, though a good deal more civilized, than when he was first discovered among the swine.

“Only to think,” said his great-grandmother, “that up in London all they could gie to he was a bad penny.”

“It is the bronze medal, my lady,” said Joshua, with a blush; “the second prize for crayons in our section.”

“Indeed,” cried Rosamond.  “You are a genius, Joe, worthy of your namesake.  There are many that would be proud to have the grandson you have, Betty.”

“Tubby sure,” added an aunt-in-law, “’tis cheap come by.  Such things to make a young lad draught.  They ought to be ashamed of themselves, they did oughter.  Shut it up, Josh; don’t be showing it to the lady—­’tis nothing but the bare back of a sweep.”

“My lady and Miss Vivian have seen it,” said Joshua, blushing.  “’Tis torso, my lady, from a cast from the museum.”

“A black-looking draught,” repeated the grandmother.  “I tells Joe if he drawed like King Geaarge’s head up at Wil’sbro’ on the sign, with cheeks like apples, and a gould crown atop, he’d arn his bread.”

“All in good time, Betty.  He can’t colour till he can draw.  I’m glad to see him looking so well.”

“Yes, my lady, he do have his health torrablish, though he lives in a underground sort of a place; and they fine servants puts upon he shameful.”

“Granny!” muttered Joshua, in expostulation.

“He’s a brave boy, and does not mind roughing it, so he can get on,” said Rosamond.

“And the ladies are very good to me,” said the boy.

“Show Lady Rosamond the draught you did of Miss Vivian, like a hangel,” suggested the aunt.

The rising artist coloured, saying, “Please, my lady, don’t name it to no one.  I would not have shown it, but little Bess, she pulled down all my things on the floor when I was not looking.  It is from memory, my lady, as she looks when she’s doing anything for Sir Harry.”

It was a very lovely sketch—­imperfect but full of genius, and wonderfully catching, the tender, wistful look which was often on Eleonora’s face, as she waited on her father.  Rosamond longed that Frank should see it; but the page was very shy about it, and his grandmother contrasted it with the performances of the painter ’who had draughted all the farmers’ wives in gould frames for five pound a head; but satin gownds and gold chains was extry.’