"Of a very silly young woman," cuts in Auntie. "We waited in Florence a week to have that finished."
"Then—then it is you!" asks Vee.
The lady in gray nods. Vee asks if she may show it to Claire.
"Why not?" says Mrs. Parker Smith, smilin'.
We didn't stop to explain. I passes it on to Claire, and then we both watches her face. For the dinky little picture under the cameo is a dead ringer for the one Claire had shown us in the silver frame. So it was Claire's turn to catch a short breath.
"Don't tell me," says she, "that—that you are Clara Lamar?"
Which was when Auntie got her big jolt. For a second the pink fades out of her cheeks, and the salad fork she'd been holdin' rattles into her plate. She makes a quick recovery, though.
"I was—once," says she. "I had hoped, though, that the name had been forgotten. Tell me, how—how do you happen to——"
"Why," says Claire, "uncle had the scrapbook habit. Anyway, I found this one in an old desk, and it was all about you. Your picture was in it, too. And say, Auntie, you were the real thing, weren't you?"
After that it was a reg'lar reunion. For Claire had dug up her heroine. And, no matter how strong Auntie protests that she ain't that sort of a party now, and hasn't been for years and years, Claire keeps right on. She's a consistent admirer, even if she is a little late.