"To find the resemblance so striking? I have not seen my sister for years, but when we were younger strangers often mistook us. We were mutual replicas. I imagine from your surprise that the resemblance is still very marked." "That is the feeblest way of putting it," he answered, still staring as if fascinated. "You are identical in every feature--eyes--hair--even the voice...." "Perhaps you might find that we differ in disposition--in character----" He interrupted bruskly, forcing himself to accept the incredible. "Excuse me; but I can not imagine any one so perfect as Miss Blair." The lady sighed. "She is on the stage." "Good heavens, madam!" said Lionel with scornful candor. "Does the stage spell infamy to you? I thought that attitude was _vieux jeu_ now." "I may be old-fashioned," she said primly, "but I am under few illusions. Of course I would not even hint that my sister is likely to tread the downward path" ("Oh, _lord_!" he groaned in spirit)--"one of our family must have sufficient firmness of character to rise above even _her_ environment. But we know the old proverb of pitch and defilement; can she honestly hope to retain her bloom unsullied?" "Have you ever--I won't say 'met an actor or actress,'" asked Lionel in polite wrath, "but, been to a theater?" "Certainly. Three pantomimes and _Our Boys_." "But that is--how many years ago?" "It was a revival of the play," she said with a blush, and Lionel was glad to notice that she had at least one human trait. "I am thankful to say that I did not laugh." "And you rest your condemnation on that?" he asked, disgusted that so pretty a creature could be so narrow. "On that, on what I have been told, and on the ridiculous number of post-card favorites that I see--often in deplorable dishabille--in every stationer's shop. I have deliberately come to the conclusion that the stage is immoral. How, then, can I avoid condemning my sister's lamentable choice of a career?" Lionel rose, pale with anger, forgetful of his errand. "I am sorry to hear it," he said with absurd dignity. Of course, he ought to have laughed and talked about the garden. "I am sorry you persist in such a hasty condemnation of a noble profession----" "And of Miss Blair," she put in with a sly jealousy. "If you like," he flung out. "I can not allow any one--even you--to criticize her. I regret, therefore, that I shall not be able to stop the night." "I was not aware," she said with an unmoved countenance, "that I had given you an invitation." Lionel was so taken aback that he sat down abruptly in his chair. Then the humor of the situation came to his rescue and he laughed outright. The lady, too, though she made a gallant effort to control herself, failed miserably. In a moment the pair of them were united by the most perfect bond (save one) that earth knows--the mutual appreciation of a jest.