"That's not the question. But then Miss Schley's said to be like me not
only in appearance but in other ways? Are we really so Siamese?"
"I can't see the faintest beginning of a resemblance."
"Ah, now you're falling into exaggeration in the other direction."
"Well, not in realities. Perhaps in one or two trifling mannerisms--I
believe she imitates you deliberately."
"I think I must ask her to the house."
"Why should you?"
"Well, perhaps you might tell me."
"I don't understand."
"Aren't people saying that the reason I don't ask her is because I am
piqued at the supposed resemblance between us?"
"Oh, people will say anything. If we are to model our lives according to
their ridiculous ideas--"
"Well, but we do."
"Unless we follow the dictates of our own natures, our own souls."
He lowered his voice almost to a whisper.
"Be yourself, be the woman who sings, and no one--not even a fool--will
ever say again that you resemble a nonentity like Miss Schley. You
see--you see now that even socially it is a mistake not to be your real
self. You can be imitated by a cute little Yankee who has neither
imagination nor brains, only the sort of slyness that is born out of the
gutter."
"My dear Robin, remember where we are. You--a diplomatist!"
She put her finger to her lips and got up.
"We must look at something or Ashley Greaves will be furious."
They made their way into the galleries, which were almost impassable.
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