Well, kill me. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. The lady murmured briefly to her husband, and then tucked her hand into Alderley’s arm. “My dear Anna,” he answered. There were all varieties of bird-life known in these latitudes, from the bird of paradise down to the tiny scarlet-beaked love-birds. “I loathe afternoon concerts, and——” She was really like her sister he thought, impressed for a moment by the soft brilliancy of her smile. There was a hint of tears in her voice.
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