"He is like him in the distance," answered Dora, "but a nearer view dispels the illusion. Pride is, as you say, chubby, while Mr. Edermont is rather lean. But they are both short, both have heads of silvery hair, and both rejoice in patriarchal beards. Yes, they are not unlike one another."
While this conversation was taking place the young people were standing patiently before the jealously-closed gate. Dora had rung the bell twice, but as yet there was no sign that they would be admitted. The sun was so hot, the road so dusty, that Allen became impatient.
"Haven't you the key of the gate yourself, Dora?"
"No. Mr. Edermont won't allow anyone to have the key but himself. I don't know why."
"Let us go round to the little postern at the side of the wall," suggested Allen.
Dora shook her head with a laugh.
"Locked, my dear, locked. Mr. Edermont keeps the postern as firmly closed as these gates."
"A most extraordinary man!" retorted Scott, raising his eyebrows. "I wonder what he can be afraid of in this eminently respectable neighbourhood."
"I think I can tell you, Allen."
"Can you, my dear? Then Mr. Edermont has said why----"