And, presently, as I sat alternately watching the blue wreaths of my pipe and the bedraggled figure extended beside me, he suddenly rolled over on his arm, and so lay, watching me.
"On my soul!" he exclaimed at length, "it is positively marvellous."
"What is?" I inquired.
"The resemblance between you and your famous cousin."
"It would appear so," said I, shrugging my shoulders, "though, personally, I was unaware of this fact up till now."
"Do I understand that you have never seen Sir Maurice Vibart, never seen 'Buck' Vibart?"
"Never!" said I.
"Too much occupied—in keeping to the Narrow and Thorny, I suppose?
Your cousin's is the Broad and Flowery, with a vengeance."
"So I understand," said I.
"Nevertheless, the resemblance between you, both in face and figure, is positively astounding! With the sole exception that he wears hair upon his face, and is of a ruddy complexion, while you are pale, and smooth smooth-cheeked as as a boy—"