“That’s. D. Do you recall the night she showed you the face in the locket? Do you remember how she said—'If only my mother had lived'? Did you ever see anything more tender or beautiful?" "I remember. ’ Was there a careful note in her voice? Gerald gave no sign, keeping his own tone light. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. He was dressed with the utmost care, and he set his feet upon the broad walk as though the action were in some way a condescension. Then he slapped his hand on his desk and looked up with the air of a man struck by a brilliant idea.
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