Frank Dicksee La Belle Dame Sans Merci paintingEdward Hopper Nighthawks paintingFrederic Edwin Church Sunset painting
The interloper -- in fact a female person of a certain age -- emerged now into the center; Anastasia left off regarding me quizzically and smiled.
"Come on: it's Mom."
She would have hailed or gone to her, but when the elder woman paused beside the case at sound of us and peered to see who we were, adjusting a pencil in her silver hair, light flashed from the point-cornered lenses of her eyeglasses. I gripped Anastasia's arm and very nearly swooned.
"Founder Omniscient!" I groaned, and ran with chill perspiration; was obliged to squat and feign interest in a low drawer of cards until I mastered my shivering. No mistaking her: it was Lady Creamhair, however drawn and silvered by unhappy terms!
Anastasia bent to me, frightened. "Whatis it, George?" I shook my head. Lady Creamhair's eyes --Virginia Hector's, it staggered me to understand! -- had evidently not improved since our dim dear days in the hemlock-grove; seeing nothing familiar about us or untoward, she went on to her office.
"You're sure that's Virginia Hector, Anastasia?"
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