“No; what do you?”
Marian looked long at the portrait before she answered. It was evidently very like the original, but there was something in the face that puzzled her.
“You told me she was a doll!” she exclaimed.
“Yes, but I’ve discovered that dolls have hearts as well as sawdust in them.”
“Oh!”
“Is that all you notice?”
“Ye-es, I think so,” she answered. “I like it.”
He laid his hands on her shoulders, and moved her so that the light fell full upon her face; then scanned her features closely.
“I’m right,” he said, “right. Go and look in the glass there, then look at the picture again, and see if you don’t find something of yourself reflected in what I meant to be a portrait of another woman.”
Marian looked closely again at the picture; it was true; as he said there was a distinct semblance of herself, a fleeting likeness which it was impossible to define, but unmistakable.