He was now anxious to
abase himself before the lady at the bookstall.
"I sincerely beg your pardon," he said. "I should not have dreamed for
a moment of intruding myself on you if I had known. I ought to have
recognised you. I can't understand--"
The lady laid down the book she held in her hand, and turned her back
on Sir Gilbert. She crossed the platform, and entered a carriage
without looking back. Sir Gilbert stood stiff and awkward beside the
bookstall.
"It's a most extraordinary likeness," he muttered. "I can't understand
why I didn't notice it before. I can't have ever really looked at her."
Then, avoiding the carriage which the lady had entered, he walked
further along the platform. He was much less self-assertive in his
progress. He threaded his way instead of elbowing it through the
crowd. The most fragile peeress might have jostled him, and he would
not have resented it.
"Uncle Gilbert! Is that you? I was afraid you were going to be late."
The judge turned quickly. A lady, another lady, leaned out of the
window of a first-class compartment and greeted him. He stared at her.
The likeness was less striking now when he looked at his niece's full
face; but it was there, quite unmistakable; a sufficient excuse for the
blunder he had made.
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