houses there, to close up the friendly window which had seen so much,
which had let so much innocent joy and gladness into the old
breakfast-room; and there would be an end of flower-bordered paths and
nodding hollyhocks. She put her face upon her husband's shoulder, and
cried a little, though he pretended not to know it. When she lifted it,
somehow she had got her eyes dry, though they were painfully bright and
large.

"It isn't like selling our house," she said.

IV.

Jacob Dolph got out of the Broadway stage at Bowling Green, followed by
Eustace Dolph. Eustace Dolph at twenty-two was no more like his father
than his patrician name was like simple and scriptural Jacob. The elder
Dolph was a personable man, certainly; a handsome man, even, who looked
to be nearer forty than fifty-two; and he was well dressed--perhaps a
trifle out of the mode--and carried himself with a certain genial
dignity, and with the lightness of a man who has not forgotten that he
has been a buck in his time. But Eustace was distinctly and unmistakably
a dandy. There are superficial differences, of course, between the dandy
of 1852 and the dandy of 1887; but the structural foundation of all
types of dandy is the same through all ages. Back of the clothes--back
of the ruffles, or the bright neckcloth, or the high pickardil--which
may vary with the time or the individual, you will ever find clearly
displayed to your eyes the obvious and unmistakable spiritual reason
for and cause of the dandy--and it is always self-assertion pushed
beyond the bounds of self-respect.

Now, as a matter of fact, young Eustace's garments were not really worse
than many a man has worn from simple, honest bad taste. To be sure, the
checked pattern of his trousers was for size like the design of a prison
grating; he had a coat so blue that it shimmered in the sunlight; his
necktie was of purple satin, and fearfully and wonderfully made and
fringed, and decked with gems fastened by little gold chains to other
inferior guardian gems; and his waistcoat was confected of satin and
velvet and damask all at once; yet you might have put all these things
on his father, and, although the effect would not have been pleasant,
you would never have called the elder gentleman a dandy. In other words,
it was why young Eustace wore his raiment that made it dandified, and
not the inherent gorgeousness of the raiment itself.

The exchange of attire might readily have been made