“She is very pretty,” she said to herself. “I never saw so beautiful a face. O how unlike me!” It was a curious thing to say, but it had some hidden meaning, for it filled her eyes with tears. “I know I must be right. I know he spoke of her that evening. I could very easily be wrong on any other subject. But not on this, not on this!” With a quiet and tender hand she put aside a straying fold of the sleeper’s hair, and then touched the hand that lay outside the covering. “I like to look at her,” she breathed to herself. “I like to see what has affected him so much.”
