The theme was a masquerade. It was precious for two reasons: it was the photograph of her beautiful mother whom she could not remember, and it would identify her to the aunt in Hartford. She yielded it without protest, as though unconsciously. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. "So you shall, Sir," replied Austin, who at this moment recollected, with some uneasiness, the applications at the lodge-door during the night. ” Miss Miniver’s manner became impressive. But she veiled her feelings. She even thought that perhaps she might come to love him, in spite of that faint indefinable flavor of absurdity that pervaded his courtly bearing.
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