Dulcie found her voice:
“I—I’m so astonished at myself that I don’t seem real. I seem to be somebody else—long ago!” She stepped close to him, opened her locket for his inspection, holding it out to him as far as the chain permitted. It framed a miniature of a red-haired, grey-eyed girl of sixteen.
“Your mother, Dulcie?”
“Yes. How perfectly it fits into my locket! I carry it always in my purse.”
“It might easily be yourself, Dulcie,” he said in a low voice. “You are her living image.”
“Yes. That is what astonishes me. To-night, for the first time in my life, it occurred to me that I look like this girl picture of my mother.”
“You never thought so before?”
“Never.” She stood looking down at the laughing face in the locket for a few moments, then, lifting her eyes to his:
“I’ve been made over, in a day, to look like this.... You did it!”
“Nonsense! Selinda and her curling iron did it.”