“Oh no!” said Olivia.
“Well, then, you should see those qualities, for they are all there.”
“And may I know who this is?” asked Miss Denison, to turn the conversation from a point where she had no more to say.
She was looking at the companion frame to that which contained the lady’s portrait. It held the picture of a strikingly handsome man, not far off middle age, plump, good-humored, and prosperous-looking, dressed in correct clerical costume, with a beautiful child seated on his knee.
“That is my brother.”
“Your brother!”
All the rules of courtesy could not avail to hide her surprise then. A greater contrast could not be imagined than that between this worn, haggard, ascetic-looking, shabby man, with his unconventional dress and manner, and the neat, smiling, comfortable-looking gentleman, who seemed to beam from his morocco frame on a world where tithe wars were not. Then a light flashed upon Olivia, and she gave Mr. Brander a smile of triumphant shrewdness.
“Now I understand it all,” she said, eagerly. “This room is your brother’s, and this lady is not your wife, but his.”
Mr. Brander laughed rather sadly.
“You think they all ‘match’ with him better than they would with me.”