"Oh, it wasn't that," he said, laughing again rather contemptuously. "But——" He rose, took some paces along the lawn, and then, coming back, stood beside her, staring at the Blent and frowning rather formidably.
"Did you see me when I first saw you by the Pool?" he asked in a moment.
"Yes. How you hurried after me!"
Another pause followed, Harry's frown giving way to a smile, but a perplexed and reluctant one. Cecily watched him with puzzled interest—still sitting with her foot stuck out in front of her and her head resting
on the bend of her arm; her eyes looked upward, and her lips were just parted.
"Have I been staring at you?" he inquired abruptly.
"Well, yes, you have," she answered, laughing. "But a strange cousin expects to be examined rather carefully. Do I pass muster among the Tristrams? Or am I all the hated Gainsborough?"
He looked at her again and earnestly. She met the look without lowering her eyes or altering her position in any particular.
"It's too absurd!" he declared, half fretful, half amused. "You're features aren't so very much alike—except the eyes, they are—and your hair's darker. But you move and carry yourself and turn your head as she did. And that position you're in now—why I've seen her in it a thousand times! Your arm there and your foot stuck out——"
His voice grew louder as he went on, his petulant amusement giving way to an agitation imperfectly suppressed.