doctor was good to look at. So Miss Vesta thought. There was a
little look, too--it could hardly be called a resemblance--yet he
reminded her somehow--Miss Vesta's face changed from a white to a
pink rose, and she said, softly, "If I had had a son, he might have
looked like this. The Lord be with him and give him grace!"

As Miss Vesta watched him, Geoffrey Strong stopped to examine
something in one of the borders; stooped, hands on knees, and
scrutinised a certain plant; then, glancing upward as he
straightened himself, saw Miss Vesta at the window looking down at
him.

"Hurrah!" he cried. "Come down, Miss Vesta, won't you, please? you
are the very person I want. I want to show you something."

"Surely!" said Miss Vesta. "I will be with you in a moment, Doctor
Strong; only let me get a head-covering from my room."

When she had left the window, Geoffrey was almost sorry he had
called her; she made such a pretty picture standing there, framed in
the broad window, the evening light falling softly on her soft face
and silver hair. It was so nice of her to wear white in the evening!
Why didn't old ladies always wear white? when they were pretty, he
added, reflecting that Miss Phoebe in white would be an alarming
vision. His mind still on Miss Vesta, he quoted half aloud:

"A still, sweet, placid, moonlight face,
And slightly nonchalant,
Which seems to hold a middle place
Between one's love and aunt."