early to-morrow and will include it with the other papers.” Morton had seized the portrait and was devouring it with his eyes. “She is a beautiful girl, Mr. Morton!”
John turned his face away so that the Count should not notice his expression, and remarked politely but with an air of nonchalance: “Yes, Count, she is very bright and attractive. It is a little difficult for a stranger to see a likeness—does she favor you in any way?” In his heart he felt it was the most adorable, the most beautiful face he had ever seen.
“She may, a little; but to me she has always seemed like her sainted mother. Although a child in appearance, she is past nineteen and quite tall.”
Morton thought nineteen was young enough. He longed to keep the photograph. He felt he could look at it for ever. Reluctantly he handed it back.
The hour was late and Morton regretted he had kept