I took the miniature from its shelf. There would be no harm now in
learning her name. So I stood with it in my hand till a little
later my landlady entered to lay the cloth.
"I tumbled this out of your book-case," I said, "in reaching down
some books. It is someone I know, someone I have met, but I cannot
think where. Do you know who it is?"
The woman took it from my hand, and a faint flush crossed her
withered face. "I had lost it," she answered. "I never thought of
looking there. It's a portrait of myself, painted years ago, by a
friend."
I looked from her to the miniature, as she stood among the shadows,
with the lamplight falling on her face, and saw her perhaps for the
first time.
"How stupid of me," I answered. "Yes, I see the likeness now."
THE MAN WHO WOULD MANAGE
It has been told me by those in a position to know--and I can
believe it--that at nineteen months of age he wept because his
grandmother would not allow him to feed her with a spoon, and that
at three and a half he was fished, in an exhausted condition, out
of the water-butt, whither he had climbed for the purpose of
teaching a frog to swim.
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