red in
Kensington in the three consecutive years following, as though some
single-minded person had been connected with their births. After this
the baptisms of no more offspring were to be found anywhere, as if that
single mind had encountered opposition. But in the eighties there
was noted in the register of the same church the burial of "Anne, nee
Carfax, wife of Sylvanus Stone." In that "nee Carfax" there was, to
those who knew, something more than met the eye. It summed up the mother
of Cecilia and Bianca, and, in more subtle fashion, Cecilia and Bianca,
too. It summed up that fugitive, barricading look in their bright eyes,
which, though spoken of in the family as "the Carfax eyes," were in
reality far from coming from old Mr. Justice Carfax. They had been his
wife's in turn, and had much annoyed a man of his decided character.
He himself had always known his mind, and had let others know it, too;
reminding his wife that she was an impracticable woman, who knew not her
own mind; and devoting his lawful gains to securing the future of
his progeny. It would have disturbed him if he had lived to see
his grand-daughters and their times. Like so many able men of his
generation, far-seeing enough in practical affairs, he had never
considered the possibility that the descendants of those who, like
himself, had laid up treasure for their children's children might
acquire the quality of taking time, balancing pros and cons, looking
ahead, and not putting one foot down before picking the other up. He
had not foreseen, in deed, that to wobble might become an art, in order
that, before anything was done, people might know the full necessity for
doing some thing, and how impossible it would be to do indeed, foolish
to attempt to do--that which would fully meet the case. He, who had been
a man of action all his life, had not perceived how it would grow to be
matter of common instinct that to act was to commit oneself, and that,
while what one had was not precisely what one wanted, what one had not
(if one had it) would be as bad. He had never been self-conscious--it
was not the custom of his generation--and, having but little
imagination, had never suspected that he was laying up that quality
for his descendants, together with a competence which secured them a
comfortable leisure.

Of all the persons in his grand-daughter's studio that afternoon, that
stray sheep Mr. Purcey would have been, perhaps, the only one whose
judgment