"My dear Fritz," she said in a rather loud, clear voice, like the voice
of one speaking to a child, "my dear Fritz, you're surely aware that I
have been the subject of Miss Schley's talent ever since she arrived in
London?"
"You! What d'you mean?"
"You surely can't be so blind as not to have seen what all London has
seen?"
"What's all London seen?'
"Why, that Miss Schley's been mimicking me!"
"Mimickin' you!"
The brown of his large cheeks was invaded by red.
"But you have noticed it. I remember your speaking about it."
"Not I!" he exclaimed with energy.
"Yes. You spoke of the likeness between us, in expression, in ways of
looking and moving."
"That--I thought it was natural."
"You thought it was natural?"
There was a profound, if very bitter, compassion in her voice.
"Poor old boy!" she added.
Lord Holme looked desperately uncomfortable. His legs were in a most
violent, even a most pathetic commotion, and he tugged his moustache with
the fingers of both hands.
"Damned cheek!" he muttered. "Damned cheek!"
He turned suddenly as if he were going to stride about the room.
"Don't get angry," said his wife. "I never did."
He swung round and faced her.
"D'you mean you've always known she was mimickin' you?"
"Of course. From the very start."
His face got redder.
"I'll teach her to let my wife alone," he muttered. "To dare--my wife!"
"I'm afraid it's a little late in the day to begin now," Lady Holme said.
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