o
pay majestic calls to Broome street, but to acknowledge the humiliating
fact of friendly visits.

"We must have a fire in the best parlor, my dear," chirped Elizabeth,
ecstatically, when Theo's hat and jacket were being carried out of the
room. "Don't forget to tell Jane, Priscilla, and--" fumbling in her
large side-pocket, "here's the key of the preserve-closet. Quince
preserve, my dear, and white currant-jelly."

Theodora was reminded of Downport that day, in a hundred ways. The nice
little company-dinner reminded her of it; the solitary little roast fowl
and the preserves and puddings; but the company-dinners at Downport had
always been detracted from by the sharp annoyance in Pam's face, and the
general domestic bustle, and the total inadequacy of gravy and stuffing
to the wants of the boys. She was particularly reminded of it by the
ceremonious repairing to the fire in the front parlor, where everything
was so orderly, and even the family portraits had the appearance of
family portraits roused from a deep reverie to be surprised at an
intrusion.

"My late lamented parents, my dear," said Miss Elizabeth, rubbing her
spectacles, and admiringly regarding an owl-like, elderly gentleman, in
an aggressive brown wig, and an equally owl-like lady, in a
self-announcing false-front, embarrassingly suggestive of Miss
Elizabeth's own. "My late lamented parents, at the respective ages of
fifty and fifty-seven. My sister, Anastasia; my only brother, my
sister-in-law, his wife; and my dear Priscilla, at seventeen years."

Theo turned from the others to look at this last with a deeper interest;
remembered that it was when she was seventeen, that Priscilla had first
met Denis Oglethorpe. It was a small picture, half life-size, and set in
an oval frame of black walnut. Priscilla at seventeen had not been very
different from Priscilla at twenty-two. She had a pale, handsome,
ungirlish face--a Minerva face--steady, grave, handsome eyes, and a fine
head, unadorned, save with a classic knot of black brown hair. The
picture was not even younger-looking than Priscilla was now.

Miss Elizabeth regarded it in affectionate admiration of its beauty.

"My dear," she said to Theodora, "that is the most beautiful face in
London, to my old eyes. It reminds me of my dear Anastasia in her youth.
I was always glad my brother Benjamin's daughter was not like his wife.
We were not fond of my brother Benjamin's wife. She was a very giddy
young