Perhaps, she reflected, these faces were the less vividly imaged because they were deeply known in other than visual reports. All the familiar faces of the town were so richly seasoned with all the rest that went with them in the making of a person that they were in themselves dimmed. Old faces, as these were, in youth or age, inherited of others, the Bell face, the Robinson face, the Moores, the Brookes, the Tanners, the MacDougals—one would know where they had derived. Bell faces had been greeting Robinson faces on the street of the town for more than a hundred and twenty-five years. Or, the face of the music teacher, out of sight, shadowed into her darkness of hair and brow and became less flesh under the remembered capricious flights of her fiddle singing. Albert, gone from the town now on an extended mission among the growers, offered a constant and joyous dare, by way of his dim image, in her game of hide-and-seek. A new person had come to the town while Catherine was still making felt her departure, a strange face with no predecessors. A man, Captain Agnew, had bought a farm at the end of one of the streets, and his daughter, Florence, was presently seen driving about the town in a motor vehicle. She was a large girl, rich in the splendors of vitality, deep of chest and strong of limb. Her eyes were bright and her lips easily flowing. She flung her looks everywhere, careless of them, abundantly centered within herself. Theodosia saw her here and there over the town and talked with her at some gathering. She thought of her again and again as she practised the trills, her present occupation, and she experimented to try to visualize the new face with its looks, its beauty, its rapid sequence of smiles, frowns, and infinities of gesture. The new face had printed itself more cleverly than any other into her mind, and she herself smiled often, remembering the vivid picture that was clear and firm in determination. The new girl had moved swiftly into the life of the town, for in a few days she was seen everywhere. “Is it because she is new to me that I remember her looks?” Theodosia asked herself, waking out of sleep, and suddenly a clear image of Florence, as clear as reality, stood in the core of her inner vision.