"
Josephine led the way into the little sitting-room; she offered a chair
to Mrs. Bertram, who would not take it. Then she went and shut the door
between the kitchen and the parlor, and standing with her back to the
shut door turned and faced Mrs. Bertram.
"How did you guess my name?" she said, suddenly.
"That was not so difficult. I recognized you by the description my
daughter gave of you. She saw you, remember, that night you hid in the
avenue."
"I did not know it was that," said Josephine softly; "I thought it was
the likeness. I am the image of _him_, am I not?"
She took a small morocco case out of her pocket and proceeded to open
it.
Mrs. Bertram put her hand up to her eyes as if she would shut away a
terrible sight.
"Hush, child! how dare you? Don't show me that picture. I won't look.
What a wicked impostor you are!"
"Impostor! You know better, and my grandfather knows better. What is the
matter, Mrs. Bertram?"
Mrs. Bertram sank down into the chair which at first she had obstinately
refused.
"Josephine," she said, "I am no longer a young woman; I have not got the
strength of youth. I cannot bear up as the young can bear up. Why have
you come here? What object have you in torturing me with your presence
here?"
"I won't torture you; I shall live quietly.
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