Dumps - A Plain Girl

by L. T. Meade

My voice trembled.

“It’s a long time since mother died,” said Alex.

“But, Alex, you remember her.”

“No, I don’t,” said Alex.

“Nor do I,” I said. “Sometimes I try to. But I have got her miniature; father gave it to me. Wouldn’t you like to see it?”

“A miniature? That’s a picture of her, isn’t it? Have you got one?”

“Yes.”

“I knew father had one, but I didn’t know he would part with it.”

“He never would until now.”

“Once,” said Alex, “years ago, he was very ill in bed for a few days, and I went into his room. He was sitting up in bed, and he had a picture in a frame; he was looking at it, and there were tears in his eyes. When he saw me he fired up—you know his hasty sort of way—and stuffed the picture under his pillow. I believe it was mother’s picture he was looking at. He must have loved her then.”