“Where is she? We should so like to be introduced to her. Will you?”
I rose at once, prompt and desperate to the chance. Under whatever pretext I must get Fifine away, explaining to her while I covered her retreat. Once gone, I might devise some excuse for her; but flight was the first essential.
But when, with a “Certainly, I will,” I turned to seek her, I found her already departed. No doubt she and her cavaliere-servente, seeing me occupied, had seized the opportunity to slip away together. Breathing again, I expressed my regrets to the ladies. “She was sitting there, with a friend,” I said, “but a minute ago.”
“What,” said Miss Brooking—“that very pretty girl? I was admiring her with all my eyes. Was she your relative?”
I stood and heard. On the first shock of those words followed an instant revulsion of feeling in my mind—from startled relief to incredulity, to amazement, to understanding; and so to an irresistible impulse to essay a daring test.
“Did you think her pretty?” I said. “My step-sister always professes to see in her a certain likeness to your former pupil.”
“To Josephine de Beaurepaire?” There was wonder in her tone.
“Yes.”
“She must have changed very much then since I knew her.”
“You don’t see it yourself?”