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 and admiration broke from him. For it was not the Bay of Naples she was painting—it was Fen. Into the quick sketch she had managed to get more than a suggestion of his wistful charm. She had happily caught, somehow, the look of the eager, sensitive little face, and a hint of the spirit behind it. Now, as she glanced for a moment at Thornton, he was almost startled to see how very much her eyes were like Fen's.

"Is it good?" asked the child; "does it look like it?"

"Very good!" said Siddereticus, "very much like it indeed. I congratulate you, Signorina illustrissima!" Their eyes met for a second, and she turned away, laughing.

"It is a very difficult subject," she said.

Siddereticus bowed over her hand, kissed Fen, and disappeared as suddenly as he had come.