about her, or that she was neglecting her duties, until she suddenly felt
a heavy hand upon her shoulders, and Mrs. Montague suddenly inquired:

"Ha! where did you get that picture? Why don't you attend to your work,
and not go prying about among my things?" and she searched the girl's
face with a keen glance.

Mona was quick to think and act, for she felt that now was her
opportunity, if ever.

"I was not prying," she quietly responded. "I thought I would pack
everything nicely from the bottom of the trunk, and as I took out the
cloth to shake and smooth it, I found this picture lying beneath it.
I was very much startled to find how much it resembles me. Who can she
be, Mrs. Montague?" and Mona lifted a pair of innocently wondering eyes
to the frowning face above her.

For a moment the woman seemed to be trying to read her very soul; then
she remarked, through her set teeth:

"It is more like you, or you are more like it than I thought. Did you
never see a picture like it before?"

"No, never," Mona replied, so positively that Mrs. Montague could not
doubt the truth of her statement. "Is it the likeness of some relative of
yours?" she asked, determined if possible to sift the matter to the
bottom.

"A _relative? No_, I _hope_ not. The girl's name was Mona Forester,
and--I _hated_ her!"