"Perhaps you can't; I can."
"How can you?"
"I've a theory, which amounts to conviction, that Mr Arnecliffe regarded your mother as if she were a goddess, and that he adored her; so, when you happen to be within his line of vision, I can see from the look which comes in his eyes that he thinks you're like her.
"Frances!"
It seemed that that was all Miss Gilbert could say. She stood still; her cheeks crimsoned; for some cause she seemed to have all at once grown tremulous. Miss Vernon went glibly on, as if she saw nothing unusual in her friend's demeanour:
"Of course I may be wrong; I'm not always right; but as I understand, from one or two observations which Mr Arnecliffe has let drop, that your mother was something quite superior to look at, I thought you might care to know that I believe you're like her. You might ask Mr Arnecliffe; I daresay he'd tell you if you did. Here is Mr Arnecliffe; you'll have a chance of asking him at once. And Strathmoira! I shouldn't be surprised if a message has come from Newcaster."
The Earl of Strathmoira and Mr Arnecliffe were walking together down the centre path which led from the house. The two girls stood still to await their coming. The crimson had gone from Dorothy's cheeks as suddenly as it had come--embarrassment had given place to anxiety.
"If--if it's bad news!" she said.
"If I were in your position I don't know what I should call bad news."
"Frances! I--I wish you wouldn't talk like that!"