“Will you let me see your locket?” he asked.
She unclasped the chain about her throat, and passed chain and locket across to him. He held them in his hands for a moment; then he opened the locket and looked long at the two pictures inside, and there were tears in his eyes again. She asked softly:
“What do they mean to you?”
He did not answer her question; he asked one of his own. “Ruth, where did you get this locket?”
“My mother gave it to me,” she said.
“Who was your mother?”
“Anna Lytton.”
He touched the daguerreotype in the locket. “Who is this?”
“My brother,” she told him. “He died before I was born.”
“And who is—this other?” He touched the photograph of his wife.