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."
And Justine, raising her veil, answered, "He was not my husband then."
"Husband!" The old man stared at his daughter, his face distorted and livid with rage. "If you—"
But whatever threat he may have intended to make, Thorold interrupted.
"He is married already," he cried; "he is no more your husband than I."
At this announcement Mr. Dunellen let an arm he had outstretched fall to his side; he turned to Thorold, and Justine looked wonderingly in Roland's face.
"What does he mean?" she asked.
Roland shrugged his shoulders, "God knows," he answered. "He must be screwed."