“It is because they make him too far-sighted, perhaps,” interrupted Prue quietly, as she took the silver soup-ladle from the sideboard.

We sipped our wine after dinner, and Prue took her work.  Can a man be too far-sighted?  I did not ask the question aloud.  The very tone in which Prue had spoken convinced me that he might.

“At least,” I said, “Mr. Titbottom will not refuse to tell us the history of his mysterious spectacles.  I have known plenty of magic in eyes”—­and I glanced at the tender blue eyes of Prue—­“but I have not heard of any enchanted glasses.”

“Yet you must have seen the glass in which your wife looks every morning, and I take it that glass must be daily enchanted.” said Titbottom, with a bow of quaint respect to my wife.

I do not think I have seen such a blush upon Prue’s cheek since—­well, since a great many years ago.

“I will gladly tell you the history of my spectacles,” began Titbottom.  “It is very simple; and I am not at all sure that a great many other people have not a pair of the same kind.  I have never, indeed, heard of them by the gross, like those of our young friend, Moses, the son of the Vicar of Wakefield.  In fact, I think a gross would be quite enough to supply the world.  It is a kind of article for which the demand does not increase with use.  If we should all wear spectacles like mine, we should never smile any more.  Oh—­I am not quite sure—­we should all be very happy.”

“A very important difference,” said Prue, counting her stitches.

“You know my grandfather Titbottom was a West Indian.  A large proprietor, and an easy man, he basked in the tropical sun, leading his quiet, luxurious life.  He lived much alone, and was what people call eccentric, by which I understand that he was very much himself, and, refusing the influence of other people, they had their little revenges, and called him names.  It is a habit not exclusively tropical.  I think I have seen the same thing even in this city.  But he was greatly beloved—­my bland and bountiful grandfather.  He was so large-hearted and open-handed.  He was so friendly, and thoughtful, and genial, that even his jokes had the air of graceful benedictions.  He did not seem to grow old, and he was one of those who never appear to have been very young.  He flourished in a perennial maturity, an immortal middle-age.

“My grandfather lived upon one of the small islands, St. Kit’s, perhaps, and his domain extended to the sea.  His house, a rambling West Indian mansion, was surrounded with deep, spacious piazzas, covered with luxurious lounges, among which one capacious chair was his peculiar seat.  They tell me he used sometimes to sit there for the whole day, his great, soft, brown eyes fastened upon the sea, watching the specks of sails that flashed upon the horizon, while the evanescent expressions chased each other over his placid face, as if it reflected the calm and changing sea before him.  His morning costume was an ample dressing-gown of gorgeously flowered silk, and his morning was very apt to last all day.