“He spoke of her eyes—describing them as woodland pools at twilight. You remember mother’s eyes were just like that.”
“Yes, dear. They were like that—like your eyes.”
“He spoke of the tender sweetness of her face—of her black hair with the gold in it. You remember the gold in mother’s hair?”
“Yes, dear. Your hair is much the same.”
“He even described her skin. He said it was like ivory with rose in it.”
“Yes,” answered Aunt Philomela, noting the rose now in the ivory of her niece’s cheeks.
“That sounded almost as though he were standing in front of mother, didn’t it? It is as though he saw a vision!”
Aunt Philomela pressed her lips firmly together. When, a moment later Barnes himself came in, she kept her eyes fixed upon her niece.
“Eleanor,” she announced, “I shall ask Carl to come over this morning.”