loyal sacrifice to the honour you vouchsafed in accepting it!"

Uttering this embittered irony, which nevertheless seemed rather to
please than to offend her guest, she kept moving about the room, and
(whether from some drawer in the furniture, or from her own person,
Losely's careless eye did not observe) she suddenly drew forth a
miniature, and, placing it before him, exclaimed, "Ah, but you are
altered from those days; see what you then were!"

Losely's gaze, thus abruptly invited, fixed itself on the effigies of
a youth eminently handsome, and of that kind of beauty which, without
being effeminate, approaches to the fineness and brilliancy of the
female countenance,--a beauty which renders its possessor inconveniently
conspicuous, and too often, by winning that ready admiration which
it costs no effort to obtain, withdraws the desire of applause from
successes to be achieved by labour, and hardens egotism by the excuses
it lends to self-esteem. It is true that this handsome face had not the
elevation bestowed by thoughtful expression but thoughtful expression is
not the attribute a painter seeks to give to the abstract comeliness of
early youth; and it is seldom to be acquired without that constitutional
wear and tear which is injurious to mere physical beauty. And over the
whole countenance was diffused a sunny light, the freshness of buxom
health, of luxuriant vigour; so that even that arrogant vanity which
an acute observer might have detected as the prevailing mental
characteristic seemed but a glad exultation in the gifts of benignant
Nature. Not there the look which, in the matured man gazing on the
bright ghost of his former self, might have daunted the timid and warned
the wise. "And I was like this! True! I remember well when it was
taken, and no one called it flattering," said Mr. Losely, with pathetic
self-condolence. "But I can't be very much changed," he added, with a
half laugh. "At my age one may have a manlier look, yet--"

"Yet still be handsome, Jasper," said Mrs. Crane. "You are so. But look
at me; what am I?"

"Oh, a very fine woman, my dear Crane,--always were. But you neglect
yourself: you should not do that; keep it up to the last. Well, but
to return to the child. You have disposed of her without my consent,
without letting me know?"

"Letting you know! How many years is it since you even gave me your
address! Never fear: she is in good hands."

"Whose? At all events I must see her."