I did not go on with any lighter heart than before this meeting with Julia.  I had scrutinized her face, voice, and manner, with unwonted criticism.  As a rule, a face that has been before us all our days is as seldom an object of criticism as any family portrait which has hung against the same place on the wall all our lifetime.  The latter fills up a space which would otherwise be blank; the former does very little else.  It never strikes you; it is almost invisible to you.  There would be a blank space left if it disappeared, and you could not fill it up from memory.  A phantom has been living, breathing, moving beside you, with vanishing features and no very real presence.

I had, therefore, for the first time criticised my future wife.  It was a good, honest, plain, sensible face, with some fine, insidious lines about the corners of the eyes and lips, and across the forehead.  They could hardly be called wrinkles yet, but they were the first faint sketch of them, and it is impossible to obliterate the slightest touch etched by Time.  She was five years older than I—­thirty-three last birthday.  There was no more chance for our Guernsey girls to conceal their age than for the unhappy daughters of peers, whose dates are faithfully kept, and recorded in the Peerage.  The upper classes of the island, who were linked together by endless and intricate ramifications of relationship, formed a kind of large family, with some of its advantages and many of its drawbacks.  In one sense we had many things in common; our family histories were public property, as also our private characters and circumstances.  For instance, my own engagement to Julia, and our approaching marriage, gave almost as much interest to the island as though we were members of each household.

I have looked out a passage in the standard work upon the Channel Islands.  They are the words of an Englishman who was studying us more philosophically than we imagined.  Unknown to ourselves we had been under his microscope.  “At a period not very distant, society in Guernsey grouped itself into two divisions—­one, including those families who prided themselves on ancient descent and landed estates, and who regarded themselves as the pur sang; and the other, those whose fortunes had chiefly been made during the late war or in trade.  The former were called Sixties, the latter were the Forties.”

Now Julia and I belonged emphatically to the Sixties.  We had never been debased by trade, and a mesalliance was not known in our family.  To be sure, my father had lost a fortune instead of making one in any way; but that did not alter his position or mine.  We belonged to the aristocracy of Guernsey, and noblesse oblige.  As for my marriage with Julia, it was so much the more interesting as the number of marriageable men was extremely limited; and she was considered favored indeed by Fate, which had provided for her a cousin willing to settle down for life in the island.