He had worked on the miniature since Saturday, and had regarded his finished product with eminent satisfaction. He had drawn her as she appeared to him on the night of the reception in the pose which he had best remembered her during the interval when she sat out the dance with him; her head turned partly towards him, revealing her small oval face surmounted by a wealth of brown hair, powdered to a gray; her small nose with just a suggestion of a dilatation lending to the face an expression of strength that the rest of the countenance only gave color to; the mouth, firmly set, its lines curving upward, as it should be, to harmonize with her disposition; the eyes, a soft brown, full of candor and sincerity, delicately shadowed by slender and arched eyebrows on a smooth forehead.
Marjorie could not conceal her enthusiasm as he handed it to her. Unable to restrain her curiosity, she arose hurriedly and went to the window to benefit by the less obscure light.
"Is—am I as pretty as that?" she exclaimed from her vantage point, without lifting her eyes from the portrait.
"Only more so," responded Anderson. "My memory poorly served me."
"Lud!" she remarked, holding it at arms length from her, "'Tis vastly flattering. I scarce recognize myself."
She returned to her chair.
"I swear on my honor, that it fails to do you full justice."
She continued to study it, paying but little heed to his remark. It was a water-colored portrait done on ivory of the most delicate workmanship and design, set in a fine gold case, delicately engraved, the whole presenting an appearance of beauty, richly colored. She turned it over and saw the letters J.A.M.A. interlaced over the triplet:
"Hours fly; flowers die;