He reformed Blanche's accent and vocabulary, and read to her out of
books which would have addled the brains of most little maids of six;
but she seemed to enjoy them, although she seldom made a comment. He was
always ready to play games with her, but she was a gentle little thing,
and, moreover, tired easily. She preferred to sit in the depths of a big
chair, toasting her bare toes at the log-fire in the hall, while her
friend read or talked to her. Although she was thoughtful, and, when
left to herself, given to dreaming, his patient observation could detect
nothing uncanny about her. Moreover, she had a quick sense of humor, she
was easily amused, and could laugh as merrily as any child in the world.
He was resigning all hope of further development on the shadowy side
when one day he took her to the picture-gallery.

It was the first warm day of summer. The gallery was not heated, and he
had not dared to take his frail visitor into its chilly spaces during
the winter and spring. Although he had wished to see the effect of the
picture on the child, he had shrunk from the bare possibility of the
very developments the mental part of him craved; the other was warmed
and satisfied for the first time, and held itself aloof from
disturbance. But one day the sun streamed through the old windows, and,
obeying a sudden impulse, he led Blanche to the gallery.

It was some time before he approached the child of his earlier love.
Again he hesitated. He pointed out many other fine pictures, and Blanche
smiled appreciatively at his remarks, that were wise in criticism and
interesting in matter. He never knew just how much she understood, but
the very fact that there were depths in the child beyond his probing
riveted his chains.

Suddenly he wheeled about and waved his hand to her prototype. "What do
you think of that?" he asked. "You remember, I told you of the likeness
the day I met you."

She looked indifferently at the picture, but he noticed that her color
changed oddly; its pure white tone gave place to an equally delicate
gray.

"I have seen it before," she said. "I came in here one day to look at
it. And I have been quite often since. You never forbade me," she added,
looking at him appealingly, but dropping her eyes quickly. "And I like
the little girl--and the boy--very much."

"Do you? Why?"

"I don't know"--a formula in which she had taken refuge before. Still
her candid eyes were lowered; but she was quite ca