Only Leonardo, and then Jack, had shown her that she might be admired. McClintock does it; and he knows why. The figure of the girl upon it in plain black dress, standing with her hands behind her, was an undeniable and astonishing likeness of herself. She reflected upon that with a thrill of terror that was also, somehow, in some faint remote way, gleeful. “The thing I feel most disposed to say, Miss Stanley,” he began at last, “is that this is very sudden. All the world before you, all the ologies. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. I want to know—just as much as I can.
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