only friend. It was strange to sit in her father's room and look at a
portrait of him as a youth hanging on the wall, and remember that Mrs.
Banks, who made him shudder, was her only friend.

She left her seat by the window to look more closely at that portrait,
and after a brief examination she turned to the dressing-table to see
in the mirror a feminine replica of the face on the wall. She had
never noticed the likeness before. She had only to push back her hair
and she saw her father. Where his nose was straight, hers was slightly
tilted, but there was the same darkness of hair and eyes, the same
modelling of the forehead, the same incipient petulance of the lips.

She was astonished, she was unreasonably pleased, and with the energy
of her inspiration she swept back the curls of which her mother had
been so proud, and pinned them into obscurity. The resemblance was
extraordinary: even the low white collar of her blouse, fastened with
a black bow, repeated the somewhat Byronic appearance of the young
man; and as there came a knock at the door, she turned, a little
shame-faced, but excited in the certainty of her success.

But it was only Susan, who gave no sign of astonishment at the change.
She had come to see if she could help Miss Henrietta to unpack, but
Henrietta had already laid away her meagre outfit in the walnut
tallboy with the curved legs. Susan, however, would remove the trunk,
and if Miss Henrietta would tell her what dress she wished to wear
this evening, Susan would be able to lay out her things. The tin trunk
clanked noisily though Susan lifted it with tactful care, and
Henrietta blushed for it, but the aged portmanteau, bearing the
initials _R. M._, became in the discreet presence of Susan a priceless
possession.