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I know nothing of these two; I saw them only once again, and then in just the same fugitive way; but if an artist were now to show me a portrait of either, I could point out where his hand was at fault. He wore a straw hat slightly tilted and was smoking a cigar. His arm was passed through that of a tall slender girl of about his own height, and, say, twenty-five, in red.
I went out of the room to remove my hat and speak to Mrs. Barton. When I came back he was standing before Charlie's photograph, and evidently studying it with some attention, but he made no remark about it; and I told him of my own accord that it was the portrait of my twin-brother, who had died two years ago. 'Indeed! There is no likeness; at least I should not have known it was your brother.
The portrait of a young man holding a glove in his hand, in the Gallery of the Louvre, if any of you have seen that collection, will remind you of what I mean. Do I think these people know the peculiar look they have? I cannot say; I hope not; I am afraid they would never forgive me, if they did.
It was the portrait of a young girl, a very sweet face with soft, half-timid looking eyes. 'I wonder who it is, I thought to myself, 'I wonder if it is Mrs. Vandeleur. If it is, she must be nice. I almost think I should like her very much. A door in this room led into a dressing-room, which next caught my attention. Here, too, the only thing that struck me was a portrait.
Looking at his features, we feel as if we knew him better, and were more closely related to him. Such a portrait, hung up before us daily, at our meals and during our leisure hours, unconsciously serves to lift us up and sustain us. It is a link that in some way binds us to a higher and nobler nature.
If we were to look only upon this side of his portrait, we should indeed be almost forced to use the language of his most enthusiastic worshippers, and call him an archangel.
And in another small picture he made a portrait of a little boy, which is beautiful and graceful to a marvel; and both of them are now at Pescia, in the hands of Messer Giuliano Turini.
On the other hand, in a green frame which had once been plush, and covered by a glass with a crack in the left-hand corner, was a portrait of the Dowager Countess of Glengower, as this former mistress of his appeared, conceived by the local photographer, laying the foundation-stone of the local almshouse.
He appeared a taciturn, and perhaps a proud personage; but he was very kind to me. The sketch of Rosamond's portrait pleased him highly: he said I must make a finished picture of it. He insisted, too, on my coming the next day to spend the evening at Vale Hall. I went. I found it a large, handsome residence, showing abundant evidences of wealth in the proprietor.
In his simple black cassock, with red edging and red buttons, the Cardinal seemed to him yet taller and prouder than in the portrait which showed him in ceremonial costume. There was the same curly white hair, the same long, strongly marked face, with large nose and thin lips, and the same ardent eyes, illumining the pale countenance from under bushy brows which had remained black.
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