It might be so, and yet young Scarlett, as he listened, could actually see a pair of soft eyes shining under darkly pencilled brows, a cloud of shadowy hair, and lips of deep carnation. It would rather have seemed that Miss Molly Wilton excelled in the art of description.
"Do you know what her name is?" he asked in an indifferent voice, stooping a little to look at a speck on one of the keys, and touching it with a neat finger-nail.
"What, do you think it may be your Miss Strange?"
"It's possible," he said. "Her people were somewhere in that part of the world."
"I did hear her name—no, don't say it! Amy, do you remember Miss Strange's name?"
Amy looked up absently.
"Something old-fashioned—wasn't it Barbara?"
Adrian had lifted his head, and their eyes met. In that moment the girl saw what a glance could mean. It was just a flash of light, and then his ordinary look.
"Yes," he said, "that's the name; it must be the Miss Strange I know."