r Roberta to know just how she
looked, standing there, as he had seen her for the instant before she
turned. From her head to her feet she was dressed in white, therefore
against the dull background of books and heavy, plain panelling above,
her figure stood out with the effect of a cameo. Her dusky hair under
her white hat-brim was the only shadowing in a picture which was to his
gaze all light and radiance. He stood staring at it, his own face
glowing. Then:

"Oh--_Roberta_!" he exclaimed, under his breath. Then he came forward,
both hands outstretched. She let him have one of hers for an instant,
but drew it away again--with some difficulty.

"You must be surprised to find me here." Roberta strove for her usual
cool control. "Rosy and I came to see your grandfather. He sent us in
here to look at these portraits. Rosy has gone back to him with a
picture she thought looked like Gordon. I--was staying a minute to see
this; it is very beautiful."

He laughed happily. "You have explained it all away. I wish you had let
me go on thinking I was dreaming. To find you--_here_!" He smothered an
exultant breath and went on hastily:--"I'm glad you find my mother
beautiful. I never knew how beautiful she was till I brought her up here
and put her where I could look at her. Such a little, girlish mother for
such a strapping son! But she has the look--somehow she has the look!
Don't you think she has? I was a year old when that was painted--just in
time, for she died six months afterward. But she had had time to get the
look, hadn't she?"

"Indeed she had. I can imagine her holding her little son. Is there no
picture of her with you?"

"None at all that I can find. I don't know why. There's one of me on my
father's knee, four years old--just before he went, too. I am lucky to
have it. I can just remember him, but not my mother at all. Do you mind
my telling you that it was after I saw your mother I brought this
portrait of mine up from the drawing-room and put it here? It seemed to
me I must have one somehow, if only the picture of one." His voice
lowered. "I can't tell you what it has done for me, the having her
here."

"I can guess," said Roberta softly, studying the young, gently smiling,
picture face. Somehow her former manner with this young man had
temporarily deserted her. The appeal of the portrait seemed to have
extended to its owner. "You--don't want to disappoint her," she added
thoughtfully.

"That's it--that'