But then, if she's only a 'nice girl'-- pooh! She ought to be more than that.

What's the use of a photograph?
Every photo ever taken of me made me look a simpering idiot." This was by no means true, but Lady Ogram had always been a bad sitter to the camera, and had destroyed most of its results.

The oil painting in the dining-room she regarded with a moderate complacency.

Many a time during the latter years of withering and enfeeblement her memory had turned to that shining head in marble, which was hidden away amid half a century's dust under the roof at Rivenoak.

There, and there only, survived the glory of her youth, when not the face alone, but all her faultless body made the artist's rapture.
"Well," she said, abruptly, "you'll see the girl.