The portrait represented a beautiful woman, yellow-haired, with blue eyes and a bright colour on her cheeks, lips which showed indulgence in every curve, and a snow-white neck around which was clasped a string of red coral beads.
Rose fixed her eyes on the picture.
“Why do you give me this?” she asked. “Who is it?”
Amiria turned the miniature over. On its back was written “Annabel Summerhayes.”
Rose turned slightly pale as she read the name, and her breath caught in her throat. “This must be my mother,” she said quietly. “When she died, I was too young to remember her.”
Both girls looked at the portrait; the brown face close to the fair, the black hair touching the brown.
“She must have been very good,” said Amiria, “—— look how kind she is.”
Rose was silent.
“Isn’t that a nice memento of the wreck,” continued the Maori girl. “But anyhow you would have received it, for the Collector of Customs has the packing-case in which it was found. However, I thought you would like to get it as soon as possible.”
“How kind you are,” said Rose, as she kissed Amiria. “This is the only picture of my mother I have seen. I never knew what she was like. This is a perfect revelation to me.”