"
"I did, and for that very reason," said Cecil.
"I should like to see you prove it!"
"Kitty, excuse me," I interrupted. "_I_ should like to ask Mr. Harshaw one
question, if he does not mind. Do you happen to have that picture about
you, Mr. Harshaw?"
I thought I was looking at him very kindly, not at all like an inquisitor,
but his face was set and stern. I doubt if he perceived or looked for my
intention.
"'That picture,' Mrs. Daly?" he repeated.
"The photograph of a young lady that you jumped into the river to
save--don't you remember?"
Cecil smiled slightly, and glanced at Kitty. "Did I say it was a photograph
of a lady?"
"No; you did not. But do you deny that it was?"
"Certainly not, Mrs. Daly. I have the picture with me; I always have it."
"And do you think _that_ looks like seriousness? To be making such
protestations to one girl with the portrait of another in your coat pocket?
We have none of us forgotten, I think, that little conversation by the
river."
He saw my meaning now, and thanked me with a radiant look. "Here is the
picture, Mrs. Daly. Whose portrait did you think it was? Surely _you_ might
have known, Kitty! This is the girl I wanted years ago and have wanted ever
since; but she belonged to another man, and the man was my friend.
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