During intervals of non-illusion I examined her face critically. There was no question of its unattractiveness to the casual observer. The nose was too large and fleshy, the teeth too prominent, the eyes too small. But my love had pierced to its underlying spirituality, and it was the face above all others that I desired.
Toward the end of a remarkably short four hours' journey, Miss Deane graciously expressed the hope that we might meet again.
"I shall ask Valerie," said I, "to present me in due form."
She smiled maliciously. "Are you quite sure you will be able to distinguish one from the other when my cousin and I are together?"
"Are you, then, so identically alike?"
"That's a woman's way of answering a question—by another question," she laughed.
"Well, but are you?" I persisted.
"How otherwise could you have mistaken me for her?" She had drawn off her gloves, so as to give a tidying touch to her hair. I noticed her hands, small, long, and deft. I wondered whether they resembled Valerie's.
"Would you do me the great favour of letting me touch your hand while I shut my eyes, as if I were blind?"
She held out her hand frankly. My fingers ran over it for a few seconds, as they had done many times over Valerie's. "Well?" she asked.