'I know it,' I answered. 'At least, I think so. You are Mr. Marmaduke Ashurst. Lady Georgina Fawley sent you here.'
He laid down his hat and gloves again, so as to regard me more undistracted. 'You are a most remarkable young lady,' he said, in a very slow voice. 'I impressed upon Georgina that she must not mention to you that I was coming. How on earth did you recognise me?'
'Intuition, most likely.'
He stared at me with a sort of suspicion. 'Please don't tell me you think me like my sister,' he went on. 'For though, of course, every right-minded man feels—ur—a natural respect and affection for the members his family—bows, if I may so say, to the inscrutable decrees of Providence—which has mysteriously burdened him with them—still, there are points about Lady Georgina which I cannot conscientiously assert I approve of.'
I remembered 'Marmy's a fool,' and held my tongue judiciously.
'I do not resemble her, I hope,' he persisted, with a look which I could almost describe as wistful.
'A family likeness, perhaps,' I put in. 'Family likenesses exist, you know—often with complete divergence of tastes and character.'
He looked relieved. 'That is true. Oh, how true! But the likeness in my case, I must admit, escapes me.'
I temporised. 'Strangers see these things most,' I said, airing the stock platitudes. 'It may be superficial. And, of course, one knows that profound differences of intellect and moral feeling often occur within the limits of a single family.'
'You are quite right,' he said, with decision. 'Georgina's principles are not mine. Excuse my remarking it, but you seem to be a young lady of unusual penetration.'