and true to their profession. These
modern girls who look younger than their pupils--" He shook his head
with an air of being quite in despair about them.

"Uncle Calvin," said Roberta, demurely, with her hand upon his arm, "do
tell Mr. Kendrick about your teaching school 'across the river' when you
were only sixteen years old."

And, of course, that settled the chance of Richard's hearing anything
about Roberta's teaching, for, though Judge Gray was called out of the
room in the midst of his story, Stephen and Louis came up and joined the
group and switched the talk a thousand miles away from schools and
school-teaching.

Presently there was music again, and this time Richard found himself
sitting beside young Mrs. Stephen Gray. Between numbers he found
questions to ask, which she answered with evident pleasure.

"These three must have been playing together a good many years?"

"Dear me, yes--ever since they were born, I think. They do make real
harmony, don't they?"

"They do--in more ways than one. Is that colour scheme intentional, do
you think?"

Mrs. Stephen's glance followed his as it dwelt upon the group. "I hadn't
noticed," she admitted, "but I see it now; it's perfect. And I've no
doubt Ruth thought it out. She's quite a wonderful eye for colour, and
she worships Rob and likes to dress so as to offset her--always giving
Rob the advantage--though of course she would have that, anyway, by
virtue of her own colouring."

"Blue and corn-colour--should you call it?--and gold. Dull tints in the
background, and the candle-light on Miss Ruth's hair and her sister's
cheek. It makes the prettiest picture yet in my new collection of family
groups."

Mrs. Stephen looked at him curiously. "Are you making a collection of
family groups?" she inquired. "Beginning away back with your first
memories?"

"My first memories are not of family groups--only of nurses and tutors,
with occasional portraits of my grandfather making inquiries as to how I
was getting on. And my later memories are all of school and
college--then of travel. Not a home scene among them."

"You poor boy!" There was something maternal in Mrs. Stephen's tone,
though she looked considerably younger than the object of her pity. "But
you must have looked at plenty of other family groups, if you had none
of your own."

"That's exactly what I haven't done."

"But you've lived--in the world," she cried under her breath, puzzled.

A curious expressi