She seemed to see, instead of her own fair little face in the glass, an elderly one as sallow as her mother's, but without the traces of beauty which her mother's undoubtedly had.

She saw the thin, futile frizzes which her aunt Maria affected; she saw the receding chin, indicative at once of degeneracy and obstinacy; she saw the blunt nose between the lumpy cheeks.
"Your aunt Maria looked very much as you do when she was your age," her mother went on, with the calm cruelty of an inquisitor.
Maria looked at her, her mouth was quivering.

"Did I look like Mrs.
Jasper Cone's baby that died last week when I was a baby ?" said she.
"Who said you did ?" inquired her mother, unguardedly.
"She did.

She came up behind me with Mrs.Elliot when I was waiting for father to get the peaches, and she said her baby that died looked just like me; she had always thought so." "That Cone baby look like you!" repeated Maria's mother.

"Well, one's own always looks different to them, I suppose." "Then you don't think it did ?" said Maria.