"I play the church organ," Zoe announces with well pleased promptness. "And I like it very much, and I am getting quite fond of Mr. Wimbleton; if he is a little bashful, I like him just the same," the youngest Miss Litchfield says between the bites of currant cake she is helping hungry Dolores make way with. Dolores raises her eyebrows, but says nothing and her sister rattles on.
"I suppose you will stay home now for the remainder of the summer, will you?" She thinks she might have a chance to visit around once in a while, and feels rather inclined to be crabbish.
"Yes, dear; my finery is so far exhausted, I am afraid it will be necessary for me to refuse any more invitations. Have you heard from Blondine while I was away?"
Zoe puts the last bite of cake in her mouth before she replies.
"No, she never writes to me. Did you see my latest sketch Dolores?"
"Why, my dear, how you have improved. I am so glad." Dolores looks admiringly at the pretty drawing.
"Oh, yes, Jet Glen helped me fix my scenes up finely." Dolores never bothers to inquire who "Jet Glen" is; someone probably Zoe has picked up, because he had a mania like herself for pictures. Zoe sees the peacock eating the buds off her pet fuschias out by the door, and she darts off to chase the offender. Dolores saunters through the hall, and into the pretty, cool, sitting-room. She looks around, at the things there, thinking how nice it is to be home again. "Ah, a strange picture; who are you, sir?" She takes the panel photo, in its green plush frame, from the table.
"Heavens! how like the eyes, features, all but the whiskers." The face looking at her so steadily from out the pretty frame, was the face of the man whom she loved better than her very life. Only a heavy moustache shaded the grave, tender mouth, but evidently he had shaved his beard. But how came his picture here in their own pretty room at home? Zoe finds her gazing intently at the photo.
"Where did you get Sir Barry Traleigh's picture?" she asks, and Zoe, with all the plainness, which was one of her chief characteristics, replies with a groan for her sister's ignorance. "Sir Barry Traleigh! your grandmother's ducks! that's Jet Glen, who I told you helped me with all my precious sketches, and who is the best and dearest fellow in the world."