He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. It was a clear, lovely, October morning. He renewed his supplications to Sharples, but with no better success than heretofore; and the greater part of the night was passed by him and the poor widow, whose anxiety, if possible, exceeded his own, in the most miserable state imaginable. Lucy thought of a song that she had not been able to get out of her head since the Fifties. It is extraordinary. “I wonder,” said Ramage, “that more girls don’t think as you do and want to strike out in the world. And of course! She had a brilliant idea. Now we meet again, and you will scarcely look at me.
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