‘Well, I’m just going to tell you. We were walking about the grounds, Sir Herbert and I (he really was very attentive to me, Matilda!), when we came across Maud, talking and laughing with some fellow, and looking quite pretty and animated. I noticed Sir Herbert looked at her rather hard, and, when we had passed, he said: “I think I cannot be mistaken in identifying that lady as Miss Torwood? She is so like her brother.” I stared at him, and said: “That is my cousin, Maud Debenham; but I do not think she is at all like Philip.” He looked quite flustered and puzzled for a bit, and said slowly: “Let me think; I can’t make it out. That lady is exceedingly like a man whom I believed to be Philip Debenham, and she _is_ Miss Debenham! But the man is not a Debenham at all, but Torwood—I had confused the two fellows. Odd coincidence, isn’t it?” He laughed, and then passed the matter off, as though he had been surprised into saying something rather strange, and wanted it forgotten. I didn’t trouble my head about it at the time. It didn’t seem to me to matter much, if Maud did happen to be rather like Mr. Torwood. But when one comes to think over it all, it does seem rather odd, doesn’t it? Everyone says Phil isn’t a bit like a Debenham.’ ‘Goodness gracious, Bertha! don’t go putting notions into people’s heads!’ cried Matilda, in some alarm. ‘It can’t be anything but Sir Herbert’s stupidity—or, perhaps, some spite against poor Phil. It would be very awkward for him to have such things said of him; and papa and mamma would be simply offensive if they could get hold of anything and trump up a story. Mamma would be delighted to try and make out that Phil wasn’t Phil at all, but an impostor. There’s nothing too nasty for her to say or do when she’s disagreeable, which she mostly is now.’ ‘Good gracious, Matilda! you’re out-Heroding Herod, talking about impostors. Why, how could Phil be that? He’s got everything, and knows everything needful to identify him! Of course he’s Phil! How could he be anybody else? But, of course, I shan’t say a word to Mamma or anybody. If she were to get hold of such an idea, there would be no peace for anyone. And I’m sure nobody could be kinder or nicer than Phil; and whoever he is, we don’t want him changed for anybody else.’ An odd sort of fancy was suggesting itself to the minds of both girls; but they did not choose to give it words even to themselves. Neither of them had relinquished the hope of becoming the mistress of the Manor, and Tor’s pleasant, flattering, cousinly air kept him a prime favourite with both sisters. At the present moment, neither would have moved hand or foot, if by so doing any annoyance could fall upon him; but if jealousy or dislike should be stirred up in either heart, it was altogether uncertain how any secret might be preserved.