"Should you? Then you shall; there's a hanging lamp in the centre here; we'll see each other by its light. Now we'll pull down the blinds--capital blinds these are; well fitting. If there should be any suspicious characters about, they won't see us through these blinds; they're pretty nearly as good as shutters. Now, Miss Gilbert, with your very kind permission, I should like to see what you look like." By the lamp's glow the man and the girl surveyed each other; she standing very straight, and he stooping a little forward. He smiled; the smile giving his mouth an odd effect of being twisted. "You're like your father." "Am I? Am I like my mother?" "No; I don't think you are; not as I remember her." "Did you know her well?" "Very; once. But your resemblance to your father's weird. It isn't only features; it's the altogether--the way you have of looking at me--they might be your father's eyes; the way you have of holding yourself--just a little stiffly; the way your head's poised on your neck--as if it wouldn't bend; why, you've even got your father's hands--I noticed it as you pulled down the blind. You're his feminine replica." "I'm glad of that." "If he could only have heard you say that, before it was too late, what a difference it would have made! What--what a curious chap he was. If he could only come and see you now, he would see himself in you; he could not help it; and any lingering doubts he had would have gone for ever." "Why do you say that? What doubts had he?" He hesitated; as if he searched for words; then again came that wry smile of his. "Miss Gilbert, it's not a pretty story I have to tell you; and it may sound uglier than it might be made because, circumstanced as we are, I am hardly in a position to pick and choose my phrases. Time is short; I must get to the end of my tale by the shortest way. I don't know who your mysterious friend who sent us here may be; but if, as he said he was, he is coming here, he may come soon. And since, when he does come, circumstances may arise which will render it difficult for me to communicate with you on confidential matters, it would be well if what I have to say to you were said quickly. So, if my story sounds even less pleasant than it need do, will you forgive me--since time presses?" "Of course I will forgive you--you know I will." "Thank you; I believe I do know it. I wondered what sort of person I should find you; but now, I think that, if the Fates had been more propitious, I might have been your friend, as I was your father's." She said nothing, but her lips quivered; something flashed from her eyes to his. "Won't you sit down? Compress it as I may, my story will take some minutes; as I said, it's not a very pretty one; and--you look tired." "I would rather stand; I couldn't sit still; I find it so hard to sit still. Tell me about my mother."