Then the dignified old gentleman murmured the price, glancing curiously at the girl as he did so, but she seemed to be quite unperturbed, so he said: ‘Will you try the effect of the ring on your finger?’
At this, however, his customer flushed: ‘It wouldn’t go anywhere near my finger!’
‘I can have it enlarged to any size you wish.’
‘Thanks, but it’s not for me—it’s for a friend.’
‘Have you any idea what size your friend takes, say in gloves? Is her hand large or small do you think?’
Stephen answered promptly: ‘It’s a very small hand,’ then immediately looked and felt rather self-conscious.
And now the old gentleman was openly staring: ‘Excuse me,’ he murmured, ‘an extraordinary likeness. . . .’ Then more boldly: ‘Do you happen to be related to Sir Philip Gordon of Morton Hall, who died—it must be about two years ago—from some accident? I believe a tree fell—’
‘Oh, yes, I’m his daughter,’ said Stephen.
He nodded and smiled: ‘Of course, of course, you couldn’t be anything but his daughter.’
‘You knew my father?’ she inquired, in surprise.