most comical way, brings up his favourite playmate,
an equally jet-black cat, to be stroked and petted, and
then departs as if to fetch his mistress. It is all very
bright and cheerful: a fair-sized, lofty room, the prevailing tints of pale sage green, with heavy damask
curtains, which do not, however, exclude the brilliant
glow of sunlight streaming in through an unusually
broad window, for Lady Duffus Hardy likes plenty of
light, and wisely maintains that people, like plants,
thrive best in sunshine.
She certainly justifies her belief. The door opens, and, duly escorted by "Sam," a tall, portly gentle-woman of commanding and dignified presence, with cordial and hearty manner, enters. Her gown of violet velvet harmonizes well with her nearly white hair, which contrasts so favourably with her dark eyebrows and brown eyes. These last have a sparkle of merriment and fun in them, for Lady Hardy is of that pleasant and genial disposition, which loves to look on the best side of people and things, and she is consequently popular with old and young alike. She tells you that she is a Londoner pur et simple; that she was born in Fitzroy Square, when that part of town was in its zenith, and was a favourite locality for great artists, Sir W. Ross, R.A., the celebrated miniature painter, and Sir Charles Eastlake, late President of the Royal Academy, being among their number.
With the exception of a few years spent at Addlestone, where her daughter was born, Lady Hardy has passed all her life in London, residing for many years in the pretty house, standing in the midst of a large and well-wooded garden in St. John's Wood, where she
