painting in an amateur way.

"There!" he said, pointing at the portrait. "I did that myself, Reggie.
It was away being cleaned when you were here last. It's like dear
Amelia, isn't it?"

I suppose it was, in a way. At any rate, you could recognize the
likeness when you were told who it was supposed to be.

He sat down in front of it, and gave it the thoughtful once-over.

"Do you know, Reggie, old top, sometimes when I sit here, I feel as if
Amelia were back again."

"It would be a bit awkward for you if she was."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, old lad, you happen to be married to someone else."

A look of childlike enthusiasm came over his face.

"Reggie, I want to tell you how splendid Hilda is. Lots of other women
might object to my still cherishing Amelia's memory, but Hilda has been
so nice about it from the beginning. She understands so thoroughly."

I hadn't much breath left after that, but I used what I had to say:
"She doesn't object?"

"Not a bit," said Harold. "It makes everything so pleasant."