“That face is familiar to me, Pink,” cried Captain Phinnikin.
“And to me also. But where I have seen it before, I cannot recollect,” observed the lieutenant. “Upon my soul, she is a magnificent woman!”
“A splendid creature!” ejaculated the captain, forgetting his habitual drawl for a moment. “Faith! I remember——and yet—no—it is impossible!”
“Yes—it is impossible—it cannot be!” cried Mr. Pink, as if divining and echoing the other’s thoughts. “But I am sure I have seen her before! And will you believe me, Phinnikin, when I assure you that, at the first glance, I thought——”
“Egad! it is her profile—her figure!” cried the captain, pursuing the train of his own thoughts, as his eyes followed the young couple who were passing leisurely along at a little distance, and quite unconscious of the interest that one of them at least was creating.
“Well—it strikes me that it is the same!” observed the lieutenant, his amazement every moment becoming greater, and his uncertainty less.
“Who do you take her to be?” demanded Phinnikin, turning abruptly towards his brother-officer.
“Perdita,” responded the lieutenant, without hesitation.
“And yet—in England—so changed too, in circumstances—and in company with that genteel young fellow——”
“All those things occurred to me likewise,” interrupted Mr. Pink.