"Not our Marion," he said. "Not our dear little girl."
"Of course not. Singular that you should have our love of and faith in Marion when you have never seen her. I had my glasses and I could have sworn it was Marion. Then they came close enough for me to hear them speak, and I knew that I was mistaken. It was not Marion's voice. Besides, I met the real Marion a few minutes later dressed in her white dress and hat."
"So that is settled. What did the other girl wear?"
"A loose blue dress. A serge, I should say."
"And her hat?"
"A Scottish thing—what they call a tam-o'-shanter."
"So that acquits our Marion. She couldn't be in two places at once; she couldn't even wear two dresses at the same time. And our Marion's voice is the music of the sphere—the sweetest in the whole world. But the face was the same."
"The likeness was paralyzing. What do you make of it, uncle?"
Ralph smiled dryly.