Aghast at the light manner of her throwing her head back to look at it critically, Twemlow still dimly perceives the expediency of throwing his own head back, and does so. Though he no more sees the portrait than if it were in China.

“Decidedly not good,” says Mrs. Lammle. “Stiff and exaggerated!”

“And ex⁠—” But Twemlow, in his demolished state, cannot command the word, and trails off into “⁠—actly so.”

“ Mr. Twemlow, your word will have weight with her pompous, self-blinded father. You know how much he makes of your family. Lose no time. Warn him.”

“But warn him against whom?”

“Against me.”