She looked at me more closely, and her lips curved derisively.
"I've heard of you," she said.
"From your sister, no doubt. I had the pleasure of meeting her yesterday afternoon."
I could not wholly keep the irony out of my tone.
"I guess you didn't find out much from her," she retorted.
"Not half as much as she knew. I hope you'll be more frank with me."
She hesitated a moment longer, then stood aside.
"Very well; come in," she said, and as I entered, she pointed the way into a room at the right.
It was a large, pleasant room, well furnished and in excellent taste. On my first glance around, my eyes were caught and held by a portrait which occupied the place of honour on the wall opposite the front windows. It was a woman's head, life-size, evidently done from life, crude enough in execution, but of a woman so brilliantly beautiful that her face seemed to glow through the canvas, to rise superior to the lack of skill with which the artist had depicted her. There was something familiar about it, too—at least, I fancied so—and then I shook the thought away impatiently.
"Well?" asked a voice, and I turned to see that Miss Kingdon was waiting for me to speak. "Sit down," she added abruptly, and herself sat down opposite me, and gazed at me with fierce eyes that never wavered.