CHAPTER LIII. THE PORTRAIT OF GERALD PAGET

At nine o'clock next morning Bob, Sophy, and I breakfasted together. Sophy's fears were abated, although she had not quite got over her fright. During breakfast I succeeded in dispelling it completely by imparting to her, in confidence, the opinion we had formed that M. Felix was alive, and that it was his veritable self, and not his ghost, she had