"Isn't it funny how, when one has never heard a name, and then one does hear it, one is sure to hear it again in three or four different ways directly? Did you ever notice that?"
Mr. Scarlett wasn't sure that he had, but he agreed that it was a very remarkable law.
"Well it always is so—you notice," she said. "Now I don't remember that I ever knew of anybody of the name of Strange in all my life, and now the Ashfords have got a Miss Strange staying with them, and here your friend is a Miss Strange."
His glance quickened a little at this illustration of the rule in question.
"Curious!" he said. "And who is this Miss Strange who is staying with the Ashfords?"
"Oh, she is a clergyman's daughter from Devonshire. She is very pretty. Amy, don't you think that Miss Strange is pretty?"
"Very pretty," said Amy, taking a book from the table.
"Yes, very pretty, for that style," Molly repeated.
"And what is her particular style?" Adrian asked, keeping his eyes, which were growing eager, fixed upon the keyboard.
"Oh, I don't know—she's rather small," said Molly lamely (Barbara was not as tall as Amy Wilton), "and she is dark—too dark, I think." (Amy was decidedly fair.) "She has a quantity of black hair. Do you like black hair?" (Amy's was wound in shining golden coils,) "and rather a colour, and fine eyes. Oh, dear, how difficult it is to describe people!"