She wore a long grey
cloak and a dark travelling-hat. She stooped over the books and papers
on the stall before her; and her face, in profile as Sir Gilbert saw
it, was lit by the flaring gas above her head. Having caught sight of
her, the judge pushed on even more vigorously than before.
"Here I am, Milly," he said. "I said I'd be in time to see you off,
and I am; but owing to--"
The lady at the bookstall turned and looked at him. She flushed
suddenly, and then as suddenly grew pale. She raised her hand
hurriedly and pulled her veil over her face. Sir Gilbert stared at her
in amazement. Then his face, too, changed colour.
"I--I beg your pardon," he said; "I mistook you for my niece. It's
quite inconceivable to me how I--a most remarkable likeness. I'm
astonished that I didn't notice it before. The fact is--under the
circumstances--"
Sir Gilbert was acutely uncomfortable. Never in the course of a long
career at the bar had he felt so hopelessly embarrassed. On no
occasion in his life, so far as he could remember, had he been reduced
to stammering incoherences. It had not occurred to him to apologise to
the jostled marchioness a few minutes before.
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