"And here"--Lestrange pointed to Sophy--"here is my second self. Can you deny the resemblance? By the way, who are you?"
The inquiry was made with graceful insolence, and was meant to provoke the young man into losing his temper. But in this it failed.
"I am Alan Thorold," he said quietly, "the Squire of Heathton, and I am engaged to marry Miss Marlow----"
"Pardon--Mademoiselle Lestrange," interpolated the Captain, and resumed his seat. "I claim this young lady as my daughter."
"Good," said Thorold coldly. "Your proofs?"
"The resemblance between us, the certificate of her birth, and the story of how I lost my dear Marie twenty years ago."
"The resemblance I admit, but that goes for nothing. As to the certificate, it is that of Marie Lestrange, and not of Sophy Marlow."
"Is not the birthday of Miss Marlow, as you will call her, on the 24th of June----"
"Yes," said Sophy, before Alan could stop her. "The day and the year are both correct. I am twenty-one, and I was born on the 24th of June, 18--."
"Very good; and at Kingston?"