"My mother's likeness was painted for me by my father; and then he had his photograph taken to match it.

I open my portraits and look at them, while I say my prayers.

It's almost like having them alive again, sometimes.

Oh, if I only had my father to advise me now--!" Her heart swelled--but she kept back the tears: she was learning that self-restraint, poor soul, already! "Perhaps," she went on, "I ought not to want advice.

After that fainting-fit in the Gardens, if I can persuade Ovid to leave us, I ought to do it--and I will do it!" Miss Minerva crossed the room, and looked out of window.