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           Finsworthsorrowfullyreplied:“Yes,thefacewasdoneafterdeath—mywife’ssister.”

           Ifeltterriblyawkwardandbowedapologetically,andinawhispersaidIhopedIhadnothurthisfeelings.Webothstoodlookingatthepictureforafewminutesinsilence,whenMr.Finsworthtookoutahandkerchiefandsaid:“Shewassittinginourgardenlastsummer,”andblewhisnoseviolently.Heseemedquiteaffected,soIturnedtolookatsomethingelseandstoodinfrontofaportraitofajolly-lookingmiddle-agedgentleman,witharedfaceandstrawhat.IsaidtoMr.Finsworth:“Whoisthisjovial-lookinggentleman?Lifedoesn’tseemtotroublehimmuch.”Mr.Finsworthsaid:“No,itdoesn’t.Heisdeadtoo—mybrother.”

           Iwasabsolutelyhorrifiedatmyownawkwardness.FortunatelyatthismomentCarrieenteredwithMrs.Finsworth,whohadtakenherupstairstotakeoffherbonnetandbrushherskirt.Teddysaid:“Shortislate,”butatthatmomentthegentlemanreferredtoarrived,andIwasintroducedtohimbyTeddy,whosaid:“DoyouknowMr.Short?”Ireplied,smiling,thatIhadnotthatpleasure,butIhopeditwouldnotbelongbeforeIknewMr.Short.Heevidentlydidnotseemylittlejoke,althoughIrepeatedittwicewithalittlelaugh.IsuddenlyremembereditwasSunday,andMr.Shortwasperhapsveryparticular.InthisIwasmistaken,forhewasnotatallparticularinseveralofhisremarksafterdinner.InfactIwassoashamedofoneofhisobservationsthatItooktheopportunitytosaytoMrs.