Yet a few more years, and the
careless observer would miss those initials altogether and would
be contemptuously inquiring, "Who did this old daub, I wonder?" And
nobody would know who did the old daub, or that the old daub for
thirty years had been an altar for undying affection, and also a
distinguished specimen--admired by a whole generation of townsfolk--of
the art of water-colour.
And the fate of Athelstan's sketch was symptomatic. Mrs. Maiden's
house had been considered perfect, up to the time of her death. Rachel
had at first been even intimidated by it; Louis had sincerely
praised it. And indeed its perfection was an axiom of drawing-room
conversation. But as soon as Louis and Rachel began to look on the
house with the eye of inhabitants, the axiom fell to a dogma, and the
dogma was exploded. The dreadful truth came out that Mrs. Maldon had
shown a strange indifference to certain aspects of convenience, and
that, in short, she must have been a peculiar old lady with ideas
of her own. Louis proved unanswerably that in the hitherto faultless
parlour the furniture was ill arranged, and suddenly the sideboard and
the Chesterfield had changed places, and all concerned had marvelled
that Mrs.
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