Sometimes when young Evelina came in with her lover's kiss still warm
upon her lips the elder Evelina looked at her wistfully, with a
strange retrospective expression in her blue eyes, as if she were
striving to remember something that the girl's face called to mind.
And yet she could have had nothing to remember except dreams.
And once, when young Evelina sat sewing through a long summer
afternoon and thinking about her lover, the elder Evelina, who was
storing rose leaves mixed with sweet spices in a jar, said, suddenly,
"He looks as his father used to."
Young Evelina started. "Whom do you mean, Cousin Evelina?" she asked,
wonderingly; for the elder Evelina had not glanced at her, nor even
seemed to address her at all.
"Nothing," said the elder Evelina, and a soft flush stole over her
withered face and neck, and she sprinkled more cassia on the rose
leaves in the jar.
Young Evelina said no more; but she wondered, partly because Thomas
was always in her mind, and it seemed to her naturally that nearly
everything must have a savor of meaning of him, if her cousin Evelina
could possibly have referred to him and his likeness to his father.
For it was commonly said that Thomas looked very like his father,
although his figure was different. The young man was taller and more
firmly built, and he had not the meek forward curve of shoulder which
had grown upon his father of late years.
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