One of these was that of a girl who looked straight out at you from a filigree frame; there was hardly a corner of the room where you could have stood without her clear, serious eyes seeming to rest upon yours.
"Cherchez la femme ?" repeated Tom, puffing unconsciously.

"Pickle was a good fellow, but he had the deuce of an eye for a girl.

Do you remember--" He stopped short, and saw the man and the photograph looking at each other.

Too late, he unhappily remembered that he had meant, and forgotten, to take that photograph out of the room before he brought Harkless in.

Now he would have to leave it; and Helen Sherwood was not the sort of girl, even in a flat presentment, to be continually thrown in the face of a man who had lost her.