My Lady’s eyes look at him full. “I saw a young lady of that name not long ago. This past autumn.”
“Now, did it strike your ladyship that she was like anybody?” asks Mr. Guppy, crossing his arms, holding his head on one side, and scratching the corner of his mouth with his memoranda.
My Lady removes her eyes from him no more.
“No.”
“Not like your ladyship’s family?”
“No.”
“I think your ladyship,” says Mr. Guppy, “can hardly remember Miss Summerson’s face?”
“I remember the young lady very well. What has this to do with me?”
“Your ladyship, I do assure you that having Miss Summerson’s image imprinted on my ’eart—which I mention in confidence—I found, when I had the honour of going over your ladyship’s mansion of Chesney Wold while on a short out in the county of Lincolnshire with a friend, such a resemblance between Miss Esther Summerson and your ladyship’s own portrait that it completely knocked me over, so much so that I didn’t at the moment even know what it WAS that knocked me over. And now I have the honour of beholding your ladyship near (I have often, since that, taken the liberty of looking at your ladyship in your carriage in the park, when I dare say you was not aware of me, but I never saw your ladyship so near), it’s really more surprising than I thought it.”
Young man of the name of Guppy! There have been times, when ladies lived in strongholds and had unscrupulous attendants within call, when that poor life of yours would NOT have been worth a minute’s purchase, with those beautiful eyes looking at you as they look at this moment.