"For my seal," Barbara answered. "The one with the big letter 'B.'
Have you seen it?"
"I? - No." The widow took a chair uninvited near Helen. "You look
tired, Helen dear; why don't you go to bed?"
"I could not sleep if I did." Helen passed a nervous finger across
her eyes. "But don't let me keep you and Babs up; it won't take me
long to arrange to-morrow's market order for Grimes."
Under pretense of searching for pencil and paper Helen contrived to
see the address of every letter lying on the table, but the envelope
she sought, with its red seal, was not among them. When she looked
up again, pencil and paper in hand, she found Mrs. Brewster leaning
lazily back and regarding her from under half-closed lids. "You are
very like your father, Helen," she commented softly.
The girl stiffened. "Am I? Babs and I are generally thought to
resemble our mother."
"In appearance, yes; but I mean mannerisms - for instance, the way
of holding your pencil, your handwriting, even, closely resembles
your father's." Mrs. Brewster pointed to the notes Helen was
scribbling on the paper and to an open letter bearing Colonel
McIntyre's signature at the bottom of the sheet lying beside the
pad to illustrate her meaning.
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