I cannot imagine, either, that our grandmother would ever have consented to visit any one.

There was a peculiar exclusiveness about her, I might almost say a cool reserve, which, although proofs of her cordial love were not wanting, prevented her from caressing us or playing with us as grandmothers do.

She belonged to another age, and our mother taught us, when greeting her, to kiss her little white hand, which was always covered up to the fingers with waving lace, and to treat her with the utmost deference.

There was an air of aristocratic quiet in her surroundings which caused a feeling of constraint.

I can still see the suite of spacious rooms she occupied, where silence reigned except when Coco, the parrot, raised his shrill voice.