"I like their faces!" said Molly. "I suppose it is so long ago now,
that I may speak of their likenesses to you as if they were somebody
else; may not I?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Hamley, as soon as she understood what Molly
meant. "Tell me just what you think of them, my dear; it will amuse
me to compare your impressions with what they really are."
"Oh! but I did not mean to guess at their characters. I could not do
it; and it would be impertinent, if I could. I can only speak about
their faces as I see them in the picture."
"Well! tell me what you think of them!"
"The eldest--the reading boy--is very beautiful; but I can't quite
make out his face yet, because his head is down, and I can't see the
eyes. That is the Mr. Osborne Hamley who writes poetry."
"Yes. He is not quite so handsome now; but he was a beautiful boy.
Roger was never to be compared with him."
"No; he is not handsome. And yet I like his face. I can see his eyes.
They are grave and solemn-looking; but all the rest of his face is
rather merry than otherwise. It looks too steady and sober, too good
a face, to go tempting his brother to leave his lesson."
"Ah! but it was not a lesson. I remember the painter, Mr. Green, once
saw Osborne reading some poetry, while Roger was trying to persuade
him to come out and have a ride in the hay-cart--that was the
'motive' of the picture, to speak artistically. Roger is not much of
a reader; at least, he doesn't care for poetry, and books of romance,
or sentiment. He is so fond of natural history; and that takes him,
like the squire, a great deal out of doors; and when he is in, he is
always reading scientific books that bear upon his pursuits. He is a
good, steady fellow, though, and gives us great satisfaction, but he
is not likely to have such a brilliant career as Osborne."
Molly tried to find out in the picture the characteristics of the
two boys, as they were now explained to her by their mother; and in
questions and answers about the various drawings hung round the room
the time passed away until the dressing-bell rang for the six o'clock
dinner.
Molly was rather dismayed by the offers of the maid whom Mrs. Hamley
had sent to assist her. "I am afraid they expect me to be very
smart," she kept thinking to herself. "If they do, they'll be
disappointed; that's all. But I wish my plaid silk gown had been
ready."