"But it's like me!" he said in surprise, as if that were the last thing to be expected.
"Of course it is," replied Pamela. "It's meant to be." Then she went on to explain how Elizabeth had sat and watched him and the children and then gone away and painted the picture up in her own room. She was longing to talk about Elizabeth's work with all the enthusiasm she felt for it, but she purposely kept her voice as quiet as she could, because she guessed it would be wiser and more effective to let Tom Bagg think he had discovered for himself how clever his sister really was.
Which is precisely what Tom Bagg came to think he had done. He was much taken by his own portrait.
"It's not a bad bit of work, eh?" he asked Pamela.
"It's a decidedly good bit of work—it's splendid," she replied.
The more Tom Bagg looked at the picture the more pleased he became with it.
"No," he said, "it's not at all a bad bit of work."
He stood with his head a little on one side regarding the picture.
And then the front-door latch clicked and Elizabeth Bagg stepped in. She caught sight of the picture immediately, and looked round the room astonished, and annoyed.
"Oh, please forgive me," said Pamela, moving toward her. "I—I simply couldn't help bringing it down..."