had ever met. Between this estimate of the man, however, and considering him as a paragon of perfection, an oracle whom there was no gainsaying, as his sister did, there was a wide gulf. It made Elizabeth a little irritable sometimes to have Alaric's opinion quoted as an authority which should effectually prevent further discussion. That so independent-minded a woman should have come to Hatty Baring's years, believing any human being to be infallible, or nearly so, struck her new friend as very odd. She did not see that, though unlike in person and manner, there was an extraordinary sympathy between the brother and sister, which made Hatty understand him when others did not. She was much less clever, but her perception was quicker; and it was a mistake to imagine that she always trusted to his judgment, built on first impressions. At this very time there was a divergence of opinion between them on the subject of Elizabeth herself, in which, as we shall see presently, Hatty held her own, and would not yield an inch.
The classes had not yet begun, and Elizabeth continued to paint from models in Miss Baring's atelier, and to receive Mr. Baring's criticisms daily at teatime. It was sometimes a pleasant half-hour, but not always. He never spared her, since she had expressly desired him to say what he thought of her work. Therefore she was too sensible to resent hearing the truth—that is, the truth as it appeared to him; and with regard to anatomy, she made no mental reservation in her acceptance of his strictures. But when it came to colour it was different. If she felt rather pleased with the result of her morning's labour, his words often fell over her like a douche of cold
