The expression of the eyes, grave and sweet, was exactly the same. He
rejoiced to think that he would always have her portrait.
He looked up at the sound of footsteps, and there she was, coming
down the stairs just as he had imagined her in that place, dressed in
white.
She was astonished to see him so soon. She had supposed he would
come about tea-time, and till then she had meant to sit somewhere out
of doors where she could be by herself.
He watched her coming down the stairs with the utmost eager
interest. In a moment she would be level with her portrait.
"It really is extraordinary," said Briggs.
"How do you do," said Rose, intent only on a decent show of
welcome.
She did not welcome him. He was here, she felt, the telegram
bitter in her heart, instead of Frederick, doing what she had longed
Frederick would do, taking his place.
"Just stand still a moment--"
She obeyed automatically.
"Yes--quite astonishing. Do you mind taking off your hat?"
Rose, surprised, took it off obediently.
"Yes--I thought so--I just wanted to make sure. And look--have
you noticed--"
He began to make odd swift passes with his hand over the face in
the picture, measuring it, looking from it to her.
Rose's surprise became amusement, and she could not help smiling.
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