"You clever thing! You won't give yourself away." She mused a few seconds, a smile on her lips, and then said, with a sudden lifting of the eyes, "What do you think of Bob?"
The girl could only stammer:
"Think of him—in what way?"
"Do you think he looks like me?"
In this rapid, unexpected shifting of the ground, Jennie was like a giddy person trying to keep her head.
"Well, yes—in a way; only—"
Mrs. Collingham laughed again.
"I see that, too. He does. I can't deny it. Often when I look at him, I see myself, only—you'll laugh, I know—only myself as I'd be reflected in the back of a silver spoon. That's the trouble with Bob—he's so unformed. You must have noticed it. I suppose it's the war; and yet I don't know. He's always been like that—a dear fellow, but no more than half grown. I dare say that by the time he's fifty he'll be something like a man."
As there seemed to be no absolute need for a response to this, Jennie waited for more. It came, after another little spell of musing.
"He's talked to me so much about you all through the winter. That's why I asked you to come down. Mr. Collingham and I feel so tremendously indebted to you for the way you've acted."