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"I'm not in a mood for jesting. Your brother said I was a simple girl."
"He did! How dare he! That Jim!"
"But I assure you I'm not quite simple enough to credit the kind of stuff you're talking. I didn't know you thought I was a positive imbecile."
"Very well. Would you like me to ask Strathmoira what he thinks of your appearance?"
"Frances! How dare you! Do you mean to say that it was because he thought- I won't say it."
"You needn't. And I don't mean to say that it was because he saw you were going to be beautiful that he showed himself a friend in need, in the first instance. He's the sort of person who would help a lame dog over a stile, no matter how ugly it was. But, having helped you over, he, so to speak, walked across the field with you because-well, because he did think so; and I haven't the slightest doubt that he would be willing to walk round this garden now because he thinks so more than ever. I've heard mother say that Strathmoira is a connoisseur where a woman's concerned. If you'd had freckles and a red nose he'd never have bought you a hat to shade them. My dear Dorothy, it's not the slightest use your being annoyed with me because you're going to be lovely. It's not my fault. For all I've had to do with it you might have been a quite ordinary-looking girl. Still, one is bound to admit that, from the merely ornamental point of view, a lovely girl is more interesting than the other sort; and I've a vague suspicion that some men are of that opinion to quite an appreciable extent. I believe you're like your mother."
"Frances! What makes you think so? Mr Arnecliffe says I'm like my father."
"Yes, I daresay; possibly you are. A child may resemble both its parents. Anyhow, I believe you're like your mother."
"But what makes you think it?"
"Well, for one thing I can see it in Mr Arnecliffe's eyes."
"Frances! What a provoking person you are! How can you possibly see a thing like that in-in anybody's eyes?"
"Perhaps you can't; I can."
"How can you?"
"I've a theory, which amounts to conviction, that Mr Arnecliffe regarded your mother as if she were a goddess, and that he adored her; so, when you happen to be within his line of vision, I can see from the look which comes in his eyes that he thinks you're like her.
"Frances!"
It seemed that that was all Miss Gilbert could say. She stood still; her cheeks crimsoned; for some cause she seemed to have all at once grown tremulous. Miss Vernon went glibly on, as if she saw nothing unusual in her friend's demeanour:
"Of course I may be wrong; I'm not always right; but as I understand, from one or two observations which Mr Arnecliffe has let drop, that your mother was something quite superior to look at, I thought you might care to know that I believe you're like her. You might ask Mr Arnecliffe; I daresay he'd tell you if you did. Here is Mr Arnecliffe; you'll have a chance of asking him at once. And Strathmoira! I shouldn't be surprised if a message has come from Newcaster."
The Earl of Strathmoira and Mr Arnecliffe were walking together down the centre path which led from the house. The two girls stood still to await their coming. The crimson had gone from Dorothy's cheeks as suddenly as it had come-embarrassment had given place to anxiety.
"If-if it's bad news!" she said.
"If I were in your position I don't know what I should call bad news."
"Frances! I-I wish you wouldn't talk like that!"
"But I don't. If he's dead it'll be no loss, the world will be well rid of such a creature; and if he's not dead, it's just as well that he should keep on living, in order that he may be punished as he deserves."
There was no mistaking, from Lord Strathmoira's manner as he came up, what was the nature of the tidings which he brought.
"Dewsnap's done it!" he exclaimed. "He's snatched that unhallowed scoundrel from the grave. The operation's been successful beyond his most sanguine expectations. Five minutes after it was over the patient turned round, and, looking at him, was heard to mutter: 'Who the devil are you?'-which sounds as if George Emmett were himself again. Dewsnap says that there's no reason, if the most elementary precautions are taken, why, so far as that tap on the head is concerned, George Emmett shouldn't live for ever. So the tragedy's a comedy after all." He was looking at Dorothy, but her glances were all for Arnecliffe; who, on his part, seemed to have eyes for nothing and no one but her. When they began to move she fell in, as of course, at Arnecliffe's side; presently, when they came to a bypath, they turned into it together; while Miss Vernon and Strathmoira went straight on. When they had gone a little way his lordship smiled, as if in the enjoyment of some private jest, and he said: "I congratulate you, Frances, on the taste you have shown in choosing your friend; she is one of whose friendship anyone, under any circumstances, might be proud."
Miss Vernon's tone, as she replied, was demure:
"Thank you very much."
After an interval he continued:
"You're not to tell your mother, and you're not to tell her or anyone; I daresay you'll laugh, but I don't mind telling you that I'd ideas about her myself. They came to me when I saw her standing bareheaded in the morning sunshine, outside my caravan door-from nowhere, there and then. But this fellow's put them out of joint. It seems to me that theirs is a case of Kismet."
They had gone several more steps when she put to him a question which seemed to have very little to do with what he had just been saying:
"You are a good man-aren't you?"
"I don't know why you ask; have you any particular reason for supposing that I am worse than the crowd?"
"No; none at all. Only-I was wondering if it wasn't possible that you might find another girl who could be-trusted to make a good man happy."