rose-tinted court dames, to the very indifferent modern miniature he
held.

The portrait of a schoolboy,--an Eton boy with a long nose and small,
grey eyes, and an expression distinctly rather sulky and lowering than
open or pleasing. Not a stupid face, however, by any means.

"It is my boy--Peter," said Lady Mary, softly.

To her the face was something more than beautiful. She looked up at
John with a happy certainty of his interest in her son.

"Here he is again, when he was younger. He was a pretty little fellow
then, as you see."

"Very pretty. But not very like you," said John, scarcely knowing what
he said.

He was strangely moved and touched by her evident confidence in
his sympathy, though his artistic tastes were outraged by the two
portraits she asked him to admire. He reflected that women were very
extraordinary creatures; ready to be pleased with anything Providence
might care to bestow upon them in the shape of a child, even
cross-looking boys with long noses and small eyes. The heir of
Barracombe resembled his aunts rather than his parents.

"He is a thorough Crewys; not a bit like me. All the Setouns are fair,
I believe. Peter is very dark. He is such a big fellow now; taller
than I am. I sometimes wish," said Lady Mary, laying the miniature on
the table as though she could not bear to shut it away immediately,