ing a forbidden idea.

"Let's wait--and see," Victoria repeated. And this patience, in the face
of such hope, struck Stephen as being strange in her, unlike his
conception of the brave, impulsive nature, ready for any adventure if
only there were a faint flicker of light at the end. Then, as if she did
not wish to talk longer of a possible visit to Tlemcen, Victoria said:
"I've something to show you: a picture of my sister."

The white dress was made without a collar, and was wrapped across her
breast like a fichu which left the slender white stem of her throat
uncovered. Now she drew out from under the muslin folds a thin gold
chain, from which dangled a flat, open-faced locket. When she had
unfastened a clasp, she handed the trinket to Stephen. "Saidee had the
photograph made specially for me, just before she was married," the girl
explained, "and I painted it myself. I couldn't trust any one else,
because no one knew her colouring. Of course, she was a hundred times
more beautiful than this, but it gives you some idea of her, as she
looked when I saw her last."

The face in the photograph was small, not much larger than Stephen's
thumb-nail, but every feature was distinct, not unlike Victoria's,
though more pronounced; and the nose, seen almost in profile, was
perfect in its delicate straightness. The lips were fuller than
Victoria's, and red as coral. The eyes were brown, with a suggestion of
coquetry absent in the younger girl's, and the hair, parted in the
middle and worn in a loose, wavy coil, appeared to be of a darker red,
less golden, more auburn.

"That's exactly Saidee's colouring," repeated Victoria. "Her lips were
the reddest I ever saw, and I used to say diamonds had got caught behind
her eyes. Do you wonder I worshipped her--that I just _couldn't_ let her
go out of my life forever?"

"No, I don't wonder. She's very lovely," Stephen agreed. The coquetry in
the eyes was pathetic to him, knowing the beautiful Saidee's history.

"She was eighteen then. She's twenty-eight now. Saidee twenty-eight! I
can hardly realize it. But I'm sure she hasn't changed, unless to grow
prettier. I used always to think she would." Victoria took back the
portrait, and gazed at it. Stephen was sorry for the child. He thought
it more than likely that Saidee had changed for the worse, physically
and spiritually, even mentally, if Mademoiselle Soubise were right in
her surmises. He was glad she had not said to Victoria what s