THE HAPPY HYPOCRITE
“I thought so,” replied Mr. Aeneas. “Mr. Ripsby only had it on hire.” Step upstairs Julius and bring it down. I fancy it is just what your lordship would wish. Spiritual, yet handsome.”
“Is it a mask that is even as a mirror of true love?” Lord George asked, gravely.
“It was made precisely as such,” the mask-maker answered. “In fact it was made for Mr. Ripsby to wear at his silver wedding, and was very highly praised by the relatives of Mrs. Ripsby. Will your lordship step into my little room?”
So Mr. Aeneas led the way to his parlour behind the shop. He was elated by the distinguished acquisition to his clientèle, for hitherto Lord George had never patronised his business. He bustled round his parlour and insisted that his lordship should take a chair and a pinch from his snuff-box, while the saint’s mask was being found.
Lord George’s eye travelled along the rows of framed letters from great personages, which lined the walls. He did not see them though, for he was calculating the chances that La Gambogi had not observed him, as he entered the mask-shop. He had come down so early
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