Her face was eager and animated—it never had lighted up like that when in his presence—her eyes glowed, her lips were wreathed with smiles, and she chattered like a magpie. She seemed to have forgotten where she was, by whom surrounded, everything, save that she was with Geoffrey.
He knew well enough when she began to tell him about encountering his double in the cafe, for he saw Geoffrey start, change color, and then grow suddenly grave.
“Is Everet Mapleson here in New York?” he heard him ask, as they drew near where he was standing.
“Yes; and oh, Geoff, he is so like you. Even I could hardly detect any difference.”
Geoffrey smiled at the reply.
It implied a great deal; it told him that she could distinguish between them if any one could, and that her eyes, sharpened by affection, had been able to detect something unlike in them.
“Do you think you would always be able to tell us apart, Gladys?” Geoffrey eagerly asked.
“Of course I should, you dear old Geoff,” she affirmed, with a toss of her bright head.
“How?”
“Why, I only need to look into your eyes to know you,” she said, with a fond upward glance.