Strange to say, the recognition seemed to afford him anything but pleasure; a change passed over his face like a flash of lightning, and although I only just caught it, it made me feel for the moment decidedly uncomfortable. While it lasted the face had not been a pleasant one to look upon. But it was not that alone which troubled me. During the moment that his expression had been transformed, it had given me an odd, disagreeable sense of familiarity.
He was himself again almost immediately—so soon that I could scarcely credit the change—and more than once afterwards I felt inclined to put that evil look and lowering brow down to a trick of my imagination. Even when I had decided to do so, however, I caught myself wondering more than once of whom they had reminded me.
He moved his chair again and went on with his dinner in silence.
“You recognised them?” I ventured to remark,
“Yes,” he answered curtly.
“Would you mind telling me who they are, then?” I persisted. “I feel interested in them.”
He looked up curiously and kept his eyes fixed on me while he answered my question.
“The man is Lord Langerdale, an Irish peer, and the lady with him is his wife.”
“Thank you. The lady’s face reminded me of someone I knew once.”
He removed his eyes and his tone grew lighter.