With the last word he whisked off the cloth, and a gasp sounded through the room, followed by a silence more eloquent than words.
Sylvia stared with widened eyes at the picture of a girl’s head, strangely like and yet unlike that precious photograph which Bridgie had exhibited with so much pride. It was Pixie—that was quite evident—but an older, bigger, wonderfully smartened edition of the elf-like child. The dark locks were rolled back in pompadour fashion over a high cushion, the plait turned up in a queue, fastened at the nape of the neck by an enormous outstanding bow; the cheeks were fuller in outline, and the disproportion between nose and mouth less marked. She was by no means pretty, yet there was a charm about the quaint little face which made the onlooker smile involuntarily and feel a sudden outgoing of affection.
“P–pixie!” gasped Bridgie in a breathless whisper. She rested her cheek against the muff, and stared before her with rapt grey eyes. “Pixie’s portrait! Oh, Esmeralda—what a lovely thought! You had it taken for us? You sent to Paris for it?”
“Yes—yes!” cried Esmeralda gleefully. “I knew it would please you more than anything else to have her with us. Do you like it? Do you think it is good? Is it quite like her?”
“It’s like—yes, but not quite lifelike. Does she really do her hair like that? I can’t imagine Pixie looking so neat. She looks grave, too—graver than she ever looked, except when she was up to mischief. I hope she is not fretting, poor child! Oh, it makes me long for her more than ever! I could look at it all day long!”
Jack stroked his chin, and smiled contentedly.
“That’s what I call something like a present! It’s a rattling good portrait of the Piccaninny, judiciously flattered as portraits ought to be. We can’t see it, though, in this light. Let me put the lamp a little nearer, or take off the shade.”
Esmeralda, however, was standing next the lamp, and refused to move aside.
“We arranged it to give the best light, so it’s no use trying to improve it. The best view is from over there by the door,” she said in her masterful fashion which would brook no contradiction. “One can never see a picture to the best advantage by lamp-light, but you must make allowances for that. Do you think it is well done? It is by a very good master!”
“Rather starry about the eyes!” said Pat critically.