I thought
it rather odd that Mrs. Ambient should pay so little attention to her
husband. But I would not for the world have betrayed my thought, and, to
conceal it, I observed that it must be such a pleasant thing to have tea
in the garden. "Ah, she won't let him come!" said Mark Ambient, with a
sigh; and we went our way 'till we reached the two ladies. He mentioned
my name to his wife, and I noticed that he addressed her as "My dear,"
very genially, without any trace of resentment at her detention of
the child. The quickness of the transition made me vaguely ask myself
whether he were henpecked,--a shocking conjecture, which I instantly
dismissed. Mrs. Ambient was quite such a wife as I should have expected
him to have; slim and fair, with a long neck and pretty eyes and an air
of great refinement. She was a little cold, and a little shy; but she
was very sweet, and she had a certain look of race, justified by my
afterwards learning that she was "connected" with two or three great
families. I have seen poets married to women of whom it was difficult
to conceive that they should gratify the poetic fancy,--women with dull
faces and glutinous minds, who were none the less, however, excellent
wives. But there was no obvious incongruity in Mark Ambient's union.
Mrs. Ambient, delicate and quiet, in a white dress, with her beautiful
child at her side, was worthy of the author of a work so distinguished
as _Beltraffio_. Bound her neck she wore a black velvet ribbon, of which
the long ends, tied behind, hung down her back, and to which, in front,
was attached a miniature portrait of her little boy. Her smooth, shining
hair was confined in a net She gave me a very pleasant greeting, and
Dolcino--I thought this little name of endearment delightful--took
advantage of her getting up to slip away from her and go to his father,
who said nothing to him, but simply seized him and held him high in his
arms for a moment, kissing him several times.

I had lost no time in observing that the child, who was not more than
seven years old, was extraordinarily beautiful He had the face of an
angel,--the eyes, the hair, the more than mortal bloom, the smile of
innocence. There was something touching, almost alarming, in his beauty,
which seemed to be composed of elements too fine and pure for the breath
of this world. When I spoke to him, and he came and held out his hand
and smiled at me, I felt a sudden pity for him, as if he had been an
orph