"I never noticed that paper before," he said.
"It stuck to the lining of the lid," she replied.
"It must have been always there."
The soft rain whispered at the lattice. In the silence, one of the plants dropped a few faint petals on the polished floor.
"Then he never forgave her," said Di at last, turning her full deep glance upon her companion.
"He did not readily forgive."
"He must have been a hard man."
"I do not think he was hard at first. He became so."
"If he became so, he must have had it in him all the time. Trouble could not have brought it out, unless it had been in his nature to start with. Trouble only shows what spirit we are of. Even after she was dead he did not forgive her. He put the miniature where he could look at it; he must have often looked at it. And he left that bitter word always there. He might have taken it away when she died. He might have taken it away when he began to die himself."
"I am afraid," said John, "there were shadows on his life even to the very end."