The miniature was painted in a fashion common to all such works of
art a hundred and fifty years ago. She could not tell from its style
when it had been done. But the fact that it hung there alone, the
one gentle spot in otherwise austere and hard surroundings, was
sufficient for her to give it the highest prominence in her mind.
It must be that, it must be what she had thought. He was lonely. He
had said as much to her on that first evening when they had driven
on the 'bus together as far as Knightsbridge. The girl was far away,
in another country perhaps, and he had seen her, Sally, had seen the
likeness, been reminded of her in some slight way, and had sought
to ease his own solitude with the half-satisfying pretence that she
was with him.
There was no thought of blame in Sally's mind. He meant no evil by
her; but it was hard. The bitterness of it struck at her heart. After
all, there was no fire to be playing with. The coldness of being
absolutely alone again chilled through her whole body, and she
shivered.
"Now," said Traill--everything was ready at his hand. "The making
of coffee's the simplest thing in the whole world; that's why
everybody finds it so deucedly difficult.
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