The Earl's eyes lingered upon the girlish portrait of Madam Washington as the two sat gravely conversing. "It was thus you looked, madam, when I first had the honor of knowing you in England," he said. "Time and sorrow and responsibilities have done their work upon me, my lord," answered Madam Washington. "The care of five children, that they may be brought up to be worthy of their dead father, the making of good men out of four boys, the task of bringing up an only daughter to be a Christian gentlewoman, is no mean task, I assure you, and taxes my humble powers." "True, madam," responded the Earl, with a low bow; "but I know of no woman better fitted for so great an undertaking than Madam Washington." Madam Washington leaned forward and bowed in response, and then resumed her upright position, not once touching the back of her chair. "And may I not have the pleasure of seeing your children, madam?" asked the Earl, who cared little for children generally, but to whom the children of her who had once been the beautiful Mary Ball were of the greatest interest. "Certainly, my lord," answered Madam Washington, rising, "if you will excuse me for a moment while I fetch them." The Earl, left alone, rose and walked thoughtfully to the portrait of Mary Ball, and looked at it for several minutes. His face, full of melancholy and weariness, grew more melancholy and weary. He shook his head once or twice, and made a motion with his hand as if putting something away from him, and then returned to his chair by the fire. He looked into the blaze and tapped his foot softly with his dress-sword. This beautiful, grave widow of forty, her heart wrapped up in her children, was not the girl of eighteen years before. There was no turning back of the leaves of the book of life for her. She had room now for but one thought in her mind, one feeling in her heart--her children. Presently the door opened, and Madam Washington re-entered with her usual sedate grace. Following her was a young girl of fourteen, her mother's image, the quaintest, daintiest little maiden imaginable, her round white arms bare to the elbow, from which muslin ruffles fell back, a little muslin cap covering her hair, much lighter than her mother's, and her shy eyes fixed upon the door. Behind her were three sturdy, handsome boys of twelve, ten, and eight, as alike as pease in a pod. In those days the children of gentle people were neither pert and forward nor awkward and ashamed at meeting strangers. Drilled in a precise etiquette, they knew exactly what to do, which consisted chiefly in making many low bows to their elders, and answering in respectful monosyllables such questions as were asked them. They learned in this way a grace and courtesy quite unknown to modern children. "My daughter, Mistress Betty Washington, my Lord of Fairfax," was Madam Washington's introduction.