among the pillows, watching him through
half-closed eyes, as a painter looks at a picture. He finished his
explanation vaguely enough and put the envelope back in his pocket. As
he did so she said, quietly: "How wonderfully like Adriance you are!"
and he felt as though a crisis of some sort had been met and tided over.

He laughed, looking up at her with a touch of pride in his eyes that
made them seem quite boyish. "Yes, isn't it absurd? It's almost as
awkward as looking like Napoleon--but, after all, there are some
advantages. It has made some of his friends like me, and I hope it will
make you."

Katharine smiled and gave him a quick, meaning glance from under her
lashes. "Oh, it did that long ago. What a haughty, reserved youth you
were then, and how you used to stare at people and then blush and look
cross if they paid you back in your own coin. Do you remember that night
when you took me home from a rehearsal and scarcely spoke a word to me?"

"It was the silence of admiration," protested Everett, "very crude and
boyish, but very sincere and not a little painful. Perhaps you suspected
something of the sort? I remember you saw fit to be very grown-up and
worldly.

"I believe I suspected a pose; the one that college boys usually affect
with singers--'an earthen vessel in love with a star,' you know. But it
rather surprised me in you, for you must have seen a good deal of your
brother's pupils. Or had you an omnivorous capacity, and elasticity that
always met the occasion?"

"Don't ask a man to confess the follies of his youth," said Everett,
smiling a little sadly; "I am sensitive about some of them even now. But
I was not so sophisticated as you imagined. I saw my brother's pupils
come and go, but that was about all. Sometimes I was called on to play
accompaniments, or to fill out a vacancy at a rehearsal, or to order a
carriage for an infuriated soprano who had thrown up her part. But they
never spent any time on me, unless it was to notice the resemblance you
speak of."

"Yes", observed Katharine, thoughtfully, "I noticed it then, too; but it
has grown as you have grown older. That is rather strange, when you have
lived such different lives. It's not merely an ordinary family likeness
of feature, you know, but a sort of interchangeable individuality;
the suggestion of the other man's personality in your face like an air
transposed to another key. But I'm not attempting to define it; it's
beyond me; someth