"It is like her usual eccentricity," said Gipsy. "I know not where she is, yet I feel a sort of presentiment we will meet her again."
"Gipsy, come here," called good Mrs. Gower, one day, about a fortnight after, as that young lady passed by her room on her way down stairs.
"Well, what is it?" said Gipsy, entering, and standing with her back to the door.
"Just look at this likeness; have you ever seen anybody like it?"
Gipsy took it, and looked long and earnestly.
"Well," said she, at length, "if I were a little less tawny, and had blue eyes and yellow hair, I should say it looked remarkably like myself—only I never, the best of times, had such a pretty face."
"Well, I was just struck by its resemblance to you. I think it must be your mother's picture."
"My mother's picture! My dear Aunty Gower, whatever put such an absurd notion into your head?"
"Because I am quite sure it is. Its very resemblance to you proves this; besides, I found it on your poor father's neck when he was dead."