"What d'you think of Mr. Hill, Ellen? Does he remind you of anyone particular?"
"No, not at the moment."
"Hasn't it ever struck you he's a bit like my Martin Trevor?"
Her tongue no longer stammered at the name.
"Your Martin Trevor! Jo, what nonsense, he's not a bit like him."
"He's the living image—the way his hair grows out of his forehead, and his dark, saucy eyes ..."
"Well, I was only a little girl when you were engaged to Martin Trevor, but as I remember him he was quite different from Mr. Hill. He belonged to another class, for one thing.... He was a gentleman."
"And you think Mr. Hill ain't a gentleman?"
"My dear Joanna! Of course he's not—he doesn't profess to be."
"He's got a good position as a clerk. Some clerks are gentlemen."