e passage; but my
great-grandfather and mother seemed to take it as a matter of course,
and I soon became quite used to it. If Mr. Vandaleur happened to be
standing in the room, he always returned my curtsy by a low bow.

I became very fond of my great-grandfather. He was a tall, handsome old
man, with high shoulders, slightly bent by age and also by habit. He
wore a blue coat with brass buttons, that had been very well made a very
long time ago; white trousers, a light waistcoat, a frilled shirt, and a
very stiff cravat. On the wall of the drawing-room there hung a
water-colour portrait of a very young and very handsome man, with
longish wavy hair, features refined to weakness, dreamy, languid eyes,
and a coat the very image of my great-grandfather's. The picture hung
near the door; and as Mr. Bertrand Vandaleur passed in or out, I well
remember that he almost always glanced at the sketch, as people glance
at themselves in passing a mirror.

I was too young then to notice this as being a proof that the drawing
was a portrait of himself; but I remember being much struck by the
likeness between the coat in the picture and that my great-grandfather
wore, and also by the way that the hair was thrown back from the high,
narrow forehead, just as my great-grandfather's grey hairs were combed
away from his brow. Children are great admirers of beauty too,
especially, I think, of an effeminate style of good looks, and are very
susceptible to the power of expression in faces. I had a romantic
admiration for "the handsome man by the door," and his eyes haunted me
about the room.

I was kneeling on a chair and examining the sketch one morning, when my
great-grandfather came up to me, "Who is it, little one?" said he.

I looked at the picture. I looked at my great-grandfather's coat. As his
eyes gazed steadily into mine, there was a likeness there also; but it
was the coat that decided me. I said, "It is you, grandpapa."

I think this little incident just sealed our friendship. I always
remained in high favour with my great-grandfather.

He spent a great deal of his time in painting. He never had, I believe,
had any profession. The very small income on which he and his wife had
lived was their own private fortune. I often think it must have been a
great trial to a woman of my great-grandmother's energy, that her
husband should have made no effort to add to their resources by work of
some kind. But then I cannot think of any pr