“You cover it for fear people will be struck with the resemblance of Cordelia to the original.”
George did not immediately reply. “If you have guessed aright,” said he at length, “should I be obliged to acknowledge it?”
“Yes, in the game we are playing. There must be mutual frankness, or we must give it up.”
“Well, Adelardi, let us go on, since we have commenced.”
“I am willing and, even at the risk of offending you, I shall now go to the bottom of the subject. I acknowledge that till now you have succeeded in concealing the feelings that for the time control you. I think I am the only one who has discovered them, unless perhaps the one who has inspired them.—But I am not certain on this point. I cannot fully read that young girl’s character.”
“It is, in fact, a character which men like us, Adelardi, seldom have an opportunity of studying.”
“I acknowledge it, and that is why your impressible nature has been taken by surprise and received a lasting impression. Moreover, in spite of the conclusions that might be drawn from that painting, your meeting here was accidental. You had not the least idea in the world of finding your Cordelia under your roof otherwise than on canvas.”
“Now you are no longer divining, for you learned that from me.”
“Yes, but I believed you, which another of less experience perhaps would not have done. And then, this unforeseen and surprising meeting lent to your previous fascination somewhat of an aspect of fatality.”