Life — December 26, 1895 — page 31: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

* LIFE: He came nearer to get a better look, and she retreated, step by step, as he approached. Finally, recalling himself, he apologized : “I beg your pardon, but I am so familiar with your face— I mean I have seen your portrait so often—that is, a portrait of your grandmother, perhaps, that I was very much surprised.” Thereupon she recovered her own composure and waved him toward a chair. 7 “ Please be seated,” and she placed herself upon a little sofa some distance away. This extreme formality embarrassed him. Then, partly from habit, and partly from that mental vacuum which visits the best of men at critical moments, he alluded to the weather. “Tt is a pleasant day.” She looked toward the storm that was blowing the rain in drenching sheets across the lawn, and answered with a serious face “Yes, Then there was a pause which she was the first to break. “My grandmother will be ready to see you ina moment. She is an invalid and seldom comes down stairs.” What a pleasant voice! It was low and soft, and he waited a moment in the hope that she would go on and say something more. Regarding her more carefully he was struck anew by the amazing resemblance to the picture. No painter, whatever his skill, could have reproduced, with greater faithfulness or with more precision, the details of the face before him. As she looked up from the folded hands in her lap and encountered his earnest gaze, she seemed surprised and somewhat embarrassed. Ashamed of thus staring her out of countenance he hastened to re- trieve himself. “Tt is curious a likeness painted so long ago should bear such a startling resemblance to another person.” Involuntarily her eyes moved to the little portrait near the chimney, then back to the speaker. There certainly was no doubt of the resemblance. The painting was an accurate transcript in color, features and expression of his own face, which at that moment was turned toward the window. He was doing his best to think of an appropriate remark. There was something in this girl's presence that stimulated him to a brilliant effort, yet his head was never so empty. “Yes, it is quite remarkable,” she acquiesced. Then with a glance in which he intended to convey only as much admiration as was consistent with a first interview, he added: “Attractive as it is, however, it falls far short of doing justice to the descendant of the sitter.” She looked at him in surprise. And at this moment he detected, for the first time, that expression he knew so well as of repressing a smile. For a second the smile became almost perceptible, then disappeared. “This is a case,” he continued, “ that proves a portrait can be a truthful likeness, and yet miss the greatest charm of the person whom at the present moment it most resembles.” 13 Again she regarded him with wide-open eyes. She had heard that men were vain, but for this stupendous over- powering mixture of simplicity and conceit she was un- prepared. To be sure he was the first American she had ever met, and this inspired her to an heroic effort to con- sider him from his own point of view. With his best smile he went on: “No face could make a stronger impression, for no face that I have ever seen represents so much that is lovable and winning.” Her lips parted for a polite acquiescence, but the voice failed to respond. In this man’s complacent vanity there was something so grotesque, so overwhelming and incredi- ble, that her organs of speech suffered a temporary paralysis. She sat facing him in dumb surprise. Cyrus saw this look but mistook its cause. He now remembered that English girls were considered more simple than their American cousins; that their wits were less nimble and their percep- tions duller. She evidently had not understood him. He must use a heavier hand. Guided by this happy thought he added : “In the portrait, while the hair, the eyes and mouth are all of exquisite beauty, one cannot help feeling, in spite of its wealth of expression, that the artist has;not done justice to the living face it so strongly resembles.” She began to be annoyed, and somewhat alarmed. And yet, with her alarm, she felt a sympathy. In spite of his nauseating vanity, the voice and bearing were those of a gen- tleman, and there was something in his manner that belied the vainglory of his words. Cyrus was quick to perceive that these speeches were unwelcome. Leaning back in his chair, he concluded by saying : “Excuse me if my speaking in this way has offended you, but you would understand if you could see the portrait.” “Tam familiar with your portrait.” “ With my portrait ?” “ You mean that one, I suppose ? "and she nodded toward the chimney. Cyrus blushed to the very roots of his straw-colored hair. What an ass she must think him! “Oh, no! Please don’t think that!" he exclaimed, with a melancholy attempt at a smile. “I referred to the portrait of yourself—I mean your grandmother—that is in America!" Again he saw the familiar look as if she had just been laughing, or was on the verge of it. This increased his em- barrassment, and he began a further explanation, But there was a step in the hall as of a lame person, and with it the rustle of an approaching gown. He felt a serious grudge against her grandmother for arriving at such a moment. As the old lady entered he looked in vain for some resemblance to the painting in America; but whatever similarity might formerly have existed had evidently long since departed. Even the features and proportions of the head seemed altered. The upper lip was longer, the whole face heavier, and, it appeared to him, of a harder expression than in the comicbooks.com