pered when the rest of the house was
decorated. She was delighted to find it in this untouched condition. All
her dear former treasures adorned the walls, and she ran from one to
another rejoicing over them. There was even a further surprise. Years
ago an artist cousin had sketched her portrait in pastel crayons upon
the color-wash of the wall. It had been done as a mere artistic freak,
but like many such spontaneous drawings it had been an admirable
likeness and a very pretty picture. It bore her name, "Ingred," in
flourishy letters underneath. The whole of this had now been protected
with a sheet of glass and enclosed by a frame. A table in the room, an
easy chair, and a gas-fire seemed to point to its occasional occupation.

"You actually haven't had this changed!" exclaimed Ingred. "I thought it
must all have been swept away by now!"

"No. You see, Father took me over the house when first he decided to
come here, and when he was arranging what papers to choose. I fell in
love with this dear wee room just as it was, and begged that it mightn't
be touched. Father let me have it for my very own. It was so different
from all other rooms. I liked the pictures pasted on the walls, and the
bits of poker-work nailed up. I knew some other girls must have been
here, and it gave me a homely feeling, as if you had only gone away for
a few minutes, and might come back any time and talk to me. Then there
was your portrait. I wondered who 'Ingred' was! The name struck my fancy
immensely, and so did the face. You remember we removed to Rotherwood at
the end of July, and all the rest of the summer I wondered about the
portrait. I used to come up here and sit when I felt very lonely, and it
seemed company, somehow. You can't think how fond I got of it. I suppose
I was rather silly and absurd, but I knew nobody in Grovebury then, and
Mother was ill in her room, and Father away all day--anyhow I got into
the habit of talking to it as if it were a girl friend, and showing it
my paintings, and my pressed flowers, and everything I was doing. I
pretended it liked to see them. Sometimes I even brought up my violin
and played to it. That was nicer than being quite by myself. It grew to
be as dear to me as the little sister I had always longed to have.

"Then in September I went to the College. You can imagine what a start
it gave me when somebody called you 'Ingred.' I looked at you, and I saw
at once that you were the 'Ingred' of my pictur