what was--not so much right--as suitable. It was suitable, for in-
stance, to get his clothes at a good English tailor, and to have the
best wines and cigars, and to part his hair, or rather to let my
mother part his hair, in one long ray from forehead to the nape of
his neck.

I never remember seeing him disturbed or excited about any-
thing. He was extremely patient, not from timidity, still less from a
sense of duty, but because he was aloof in spirit and indifferent
to most of the minor arrangements of life. I do not think that break-
fast was ever ready at the time my father wanted it--it was always
about ten minutes late, but I never remember him expressing any
annoyance. He sat and read the newspaper until the cook was
ready.

The clearest thing about my father as I look back was his ro-
mantic devotion to my mother. He continued to love and admire
her to the day of his death, and never to have the least idea how
she felt on any subject. Some of the most painful hours of my youth
were spent at the dinner table when my mother was angry at him,
and was not, therefore, speaking to him--a fact that all three daugh-
ters saw immediately, but of which my father would remain utterly
unaware.

My father cared less for other people's opinion than anyone I
have ever known. The most characteristic story of him is this. He
and my mother were dining at a large formal dinner. My mother
was horrified to see her husband suddenly disappear under the
table. The fact was that the dining-room chairs had been too few,
and my father had been given a chair with castors; leaning back,
the castors had slid, and he had fallen under the table. On the
way home, my mother, asking and hearing this explanation, said
to him: "I hope, Jimmie, you explained to the people next to you
what had happened." My father looked at her in slight surprise.
"No," he said, "it wasn't any of their business."

Children made friends with him instantly; his gravity reassured
and attracted them. He was continually waylaid, as he approached
his own door step, by his small friends of the neighborhood.

My mother, to the day of her death, was a very pretty woman.
She had a great deal of fine dark brown glossy hair, so long she
could sit on it, bright brown eyes, a high pink color, and a little
nose, whose only fault was that it would not hold the glasses which
she wore for sewing and reading. Whenever she laughed, which
she did easily and frequently, her glasses would fall off and get
entangled in her sewing silks.

To her friends, and to her servants, she appeared almost too

-9-