Mrs. Ryder's eyes grew soft.
"I am so sorry for you," she said. The tear on Mariana's lashes fell upon her hand.
"It was eight years ago," she said. "That is a long time, but I suppose one never entirely forgets."
"No," answered the other, "one never forgets."
She stooped suddenly, and, lifting her child, kissed it passionately.
Several mornings after this Mariana's carriage stopped before Nevins's studio, and Mariana got out and ascended the long flight of stairs. In response to the fall of the brass knocker, the door was opened and Nevins greeted her reproachfully. "Are you aware," he demanded, gravely, "that there has been sufficient time for the appearance of a wrinkle since your last sitting?"
"Portraits don't have wrinkles," returned Mariana, cheerfully, entering and unfastening her coat; "nor do I."
She removed her hat and gave an impatient little fluff to her hair.
"Do I look well?" she asked.
"Were you ever otherwise to me?" rejoined Nevins, in impassioned protest.