When Roland and Justine re-entered the drawing-room that afternoon they
found Mr. Dunellen there. With him was Guy Thorold.
During the infant days of photography family groups were so much in
vogue that anyone with an old album in reach can find them there in
plenty. They are faded, no doubt; the cut of the garments is absurd;
even the faces seem to have that antique look which is peculiar to the
miniatures of people dead and departed: yet the impression they convey
is admirably exalting. That gentleman in the wonderful coat must have
been magnificent in every sphere of life: his mere pose, his attitude,
is convincing as a memoir. And that lady in the camel's-hair shawl--how
bewitchingly lovable she surely was! There is her daughter, who might be
her niece, so prettily does she seem inclined to behave; and there is
the son, a trifle effaced perhaps, yet with the makings of a man
manifest even in that effacement. Oh, good people! let us hope you were
really as amiable as you look: the picture is all we have of you; even
your names are forgot; and truly it were discomforting to have the
impression you convey disturbed in its slightest suggestion. We love you
best as you are; we prefer you so. I, for one, will have none of that
cynicism which hints that had a snap camera caught you unprepared the
charm would disappear.
Yet now, in the present instance, as Mr. Dunellen and his nephew stood
facing Roland and Justine, a photographer who had happened there could
have taken a family group which would in no manner have resembled those
which our albums hold.
"I told you last night," Mr. Dunellen was shrieking, "that I forbade you
to see that man."