“But he don’t represent himself to be any other than what he seems!”
“Oh, I beg your pardon, my dear! I thought you said he did.”
“No; oh, no! I said that I feel sure that when he gets his rights, he will be a nobleman or a prince!”
“Ah! but why should you think so, my dear!”
“Oh! no one could look at Roland Bayard and not know him to be one of princely rank!” exclaimed Rosemary, with such solemn fervor that the earl turned and gazed at her.
“And is this the only reason you have for thinking the young man of gentle blood?”
“No! not only his looks, but his voice, speech, tone, manner, gesture—all proclaim him of noble blood!”
As Rosemary spoke, she suddenly turned and looked intently at the earl, and then she added:
“Yes! It is true! It is not imagination! I have thought of it often, though I never spoke of it before!”
“Of what, my dear?”