"Come and meet Agnes, who takes care of everything and manages the house, "said Mr Wickfield. We all went upstairs to another sittingroom, prettily furnished, where a girl of my own age was sitting. On her face I saw immediately the beautiful, calm expression of the lady in the painting downstairs, and I knew she must be Mr Wickfield's daughter, Agnes. When I saw the way Mr Wickfield looked at Agnes and held her hand, I realized that she was the only thing that made life worth living for him. The lady in the painting was her mother, who had died some years before, and Agnes was nowin complete charge ofthe house. She welcomed me warmly as a guest, and showed me the comfortable bedroom I would sleep in. My aunt was very happy to leave me in the care of Mr Wickfield and his daughter.