On this
occasion he had cut matters so fine between the timing of
his exculpatory visit and the coming of Colonel John, that
he would scarcely be home before the latter was due to
arrive. Anyhow, Groby had got it over, and six or seven
months might decently elapse before he need again sacrifice
his comforts and inclinations on the altar of family
sociability. He was inclined to be distinctly cheerful as
he hopped about the room, picking up first one object, then
another, and subjecting each to a brief bird-like scrutiny.
Presently his cheerful listlessness changed sharply to
an attitude of vexed attention. In a scrap-book of drawings
and caricatures belonging to one of his nephews he had come
across an unkindly clever sketch of himself and his parrot,
solemnly confronting each other in postures of ridiculous
gravity and repose, and bearing a likeness to one another
that the artist had done his utmost to accentuate. After
the first flush of annoyance had passed away, Groby laughed
good-naturedly and admitted to himself the cleverness of the
drawing. Then the feeling of resentment repossessed him,
resentment not against the caricaturist who had embodied the
idea in pen and ink, but against the possible truth that the
idea represented.
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