had so recently come to her, and especially how it had quite taken away
the melancholy with which she had all her life before looked back upon
her youth. Mrs. Slater listened in silence.

"Where on earth did you get that portrait?" she exclaimed, as Miss
Ludington, after taking her on a tour through the house before tea,
brought her into the sitting-room.

"Whom does it remind you of?" asked Miss Ludington.

"I know whom it reminds me of," replied Mrs. Slater; "but how it ever got
here is what puzzles me."

"I thought you would recognize it," said Miss Ludington, with a pleased
smile. "I suppose you think it odd you should never have seen it,
considering whom it is of?"

"I do, certainly," replied Mrs. Slater.

"You see," explained Miss Ludington, "I did not have it painted till
after I left Hilton. You remember that little ivory portrait of myself at
seventeen, which I thought so much of after I lost my looks? Well, this
portrait I had enlarged from that. I have always believed that it was
very like, but you don't know what a reassurance it is to me to have you
recognize it so instantly."

At the tea-table Paul appeared, and was introduced to Mrs. Slater, who
regarded him with considerable interest. Miss Ludington had informed her
that he was her cousin and heir, and had told her something of his
romantic devotion to the Ida of the picture. Paul, who from Miss