Fruitlessly she hunted through boxes, bowls, flowerpot holders, and the music davenport.

And while she was eagerly searching for the portrait, it was growing in size and distinctness in her imagination, attaining to a man's stature, was assuming a mocking air and defying her.

Her head was on fire, her feet were like ice, and she could feel terror creeping into the pit of her stomach.

Just as she was about to give up the search, about to go and bury her face in her pillow, she remembered that her mother kept some photographs in her mirror-panelled wardrobe.

She again took courage.