Either Peter had excellent taste , or the Croyden photographers knew how to flatter . But there was one on the mantel which attracted my attention especially . If the photo were to be trusted the girl was quite the prettiest I had ever seen . `` Peter , what pretty girl 's picture is this on your mantel ? '' I called out to Peter , who was in his bedroom , donning evening dress for some function . `` That 's my cousin , Marian Lindsay , '' he answered . `` She is rather nice-looking , is n't she . Lives in Croyden now -- used to live up the river at Chiselhurst . Did n't you ever chance across her when you were in Croyden ? '' `` No , '' I said . `` If I had I would n't have forgotten her face . '' `` Well , she 'd be only a kid then , of course . She 's twenty-six now . Marian is a mighty nice girl , but she 's bound to be an old maid . She 's got notions -- ideals , she calls 'em . All the Croyden fellows have been in love with her at one time or another but they might as well have made up to a statue . Marian really has n't a spark of feeling or sentiment in her . Her looks are the best part of her , although she 's confoundedly clever . '' Peter spoke rather squiffily . I suspected that he had been one of the smitten swains himself .
I looked at the photo for a few minutes longer , admiring it more every minute and , when I heard Peter coming out , I did an unjustifiable thing -- I took that photo and put it XXXXX my pocket .
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