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What brings you here?” “I’m here to see my uncle. His hand shook so violently that he dropped the handkerchief; and he let it lie on the floor because he dared not stoop. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. To-night the subtle suggestiveness of those few daring lines, fascinating in their very simplicity, the head thrown back, the half-closed eyes—the inner meaning of the great artist seemed to come to him with a rush. "And the will?" he said, with forced calmness. Almost light-heartedly. " "I see.
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