She was brought, and stood with her hand in her sister’s. Louisa had observed her with her arm round Sissy’s neck, and she felt the difference of this approach.

“Do you see the likeness, Louisa?”

“Yes, mother. I should think her like me. But⁠—”

“Eh! Yes, I always say so,” Mrs. Gradgrind cried, with unexpected quickness. “And that reminds me. I⁠—I want to speak to you, my dear. Sissy, my good girl, leave us alone a minute.” Louisa had relinquished the hand: had thought that her sister’s was a better and brighter face than hers had ever been: had seen in it, not without a rising feeling of resentment, even in that place and at that time, something of the gentleness of the other face in the room; the sweet face with the trusting eyes, made paler than watching and sympathy made it, by the rich dark hair.