"I'm not in a mood for jesting. Your brother said I was a simple girl." "He did! How dare he! That Jim!" "But I assure you I'm not quite simple enough to credit the kind of stuff you're talking. I didn't know you thought I was a positive imbecile." "Very well. Would you like me to ask Strathmoira what he thinks of your appearance?" "Frances! How dare you! Do you mean to say that it was because he thought---- I won't say it." "You needn't. And I don't mean to say that it was because he saw you were going to be beautiful that he showed himself a friend in need, in the first instance. He's the sort of person who would help a lame dog over a stile, no matter how ugly it was. But, having helped you over, he, so to speak, walked across the field with you because--well, because he did think so; and I haven't the slightest doubt that he would be willing to walk round this garden now because he thinks so more than ever. I've heard mother say that Strathmoira is a connoisseur where a woman's concerned. If you'd had freckles and a red nose he'd never have bought you a hat to shade them. My dear Dorothy, it's not the slightest use your being annoyed with me because you're going to be lovely. It's not my fault. For all I've had to do with it you might have been a quite ordinary-looking girl. Still, one is bound to admit that, from the merely ornamental point of view, a lovely girl is more interesting than the other sort; and I've a vague suspicion that some men are of that opinion to quite an appreciable extent. I believe you're like your mother." "Frances! What makes you think so? Mr Arnecliffe says I'm like my father." "Yes, I daresay; possibly you are. A child may resemble both its parents. Anyhow, I believe you're like your mother." "But what makes you think it?" "Well, for one thing I can see it in Mr Arnecliffe's eyes." "Frances! What a provoking person you are! How can you possibly see a thing like that in--in anybody's eyes?" "Perhaps you can't; I can." "How can you?" "I've a theory, which amounts to conviction, that Mr Arnecliffe regarded your mother as if she were a goddess, and that he adored her; so, when you happen to be within his line of vision, I can see from the look which comes in his eyes that he thinks you're like her. "Frances!" It seemed that that was all Miss Gilbert could say. She stood still; her cheeks crimsoned; for some cause she seemed to have all at once grown tremulous. Miss Vernon went glibly on, as if she saw nothing unusual in her friend's demeanour: