The face that greeted Dorothy in the mirror was the prettiest version of
herself that she had ever seen. The quaint costume, the scarf, and the
big hat suited her admirably; the excitement and fun had brought
unwonted roses to her cheeks, and her eyes were as bright as stars. She
had had no idea that it was possible for her to look so well, and the
surprise heightened the colour which was so becoming.

"Now the picture--look straight from yourself to the picture!" commanded
Alison.

The portrait hanging on the opposite wall was that of a young lady of
perhaps seventeen. The face was pretty, with grey eyes and regular
features; the splendid Venetian dress set off to advantage the dark
curls and the graceful turn of the neck; the slender hands held a lute,
and the lips looked as if they had just closed after finishing the last
refrain of a song. Whether it was the effect of the costume or not,
there certainly was some resemblance between the face in the painting
and that of the girl who was scrutinizing it. Dorothy could see that for
herself, though the likeness did not seem so striking to her as it
appeared to her friend.

"You're the absolute image!" declared Alison. "It might have been
painted directly from you. Bruce!" (to a servant who was crossing the
hall) "Bruce, come here! I want you to look. Did you ever see anything
so exact? Isn't she Aunt Madeleine to the life?"

Bruce gazed contemplatively from the painted face to the living one.

"The young lady certainly favours the picture," she said. "I suppose
it's the dress, and the way her hair's done. Miss Alison, your tea's
ready. I've put it in the library this afternoon."

"Then bring another cup. Dorothy, you must stay and have tea with me.
Yes, you must! You don't know how I hate being alone, and Mother won't
be home till seven. Oh, do, do! You can't think how much I want you."

"But I shall miss the 5.30!"

"Never mind, you'll get the next train. Isn't there one at six? Bruce,
fetch the railway guide please. Oh, thanks! Now then, Coleminster to
Hurford--where are we? Latchworth--yes, there's one at 6.5. Dorothy,
you'll have oceans of time. I can't let you go without tea."

It seemed a pity, when she was there, not to stay, so Dorothy argued. Of
course, Aunt Barbara would be getting rather anxious, but her mind would
soon be set at rest afterwards, and Dorothy was not given to troubling
very much about other people's fears.

"It's twenty-five past now