"Apparently it is in the backs of mirrors," murmured Henriette.
"I don't blame Henriette for never looking at the back, do you?" Helen asked Phil.
Phil thought a little revenge was due him for having a mirror set in front of him for the purpose of a comparison of physiognomies.
"Hardly. I envy the mirror!" he said, turning to her. But she had dropped her gaze to her coffee cup and took a deliberate sip before looking up.
"It is always pleasant to say foolish things nicely," she remarked.
"But he is sincere. If he weren't it would be accusing him of blindness, wouldn't it, cousin?" put in Helen mischievously.
"Absolutely!" he managed to say, conscious that he was not having much revenge and that things were getting brittle; while Mrs. Sanford, pretending to smile, could not quite follow the nimble conversation.
Helen laughed again to cover the misadventure of her unruly tongue, and Phil laughed, too, though he did not exactly know why. Henriette was taking another deliberate sip of coffee. They were not aware of the vicar's return until he stood behind Phil's chair.
"Look again, cousin!" Helen bade him.
He was of a mind not to, but could not control his curiosity. The vicar was holding against the frame beside the face of the ancestor a photograph of the statue in the square at Longfield.