Miss Deane's belief in that matter, however, was soon proved to be
otherwise; for when they were alone together in the drawing-room after
dinner, and the topic so inevitably present to both their minds came to
the surface of conversation, she unexpectedly said: "But we're
evidently the poles apart in character and manner, my dear."

"Oh! do you think so?" Rachel exclaimed. "I--it's a queer thing to say
perhaps--but I curiously feel like you, aunt; when you speak sometimes
and--and when I watch the way you do things."

Miss Deane shook her head. "I admit the physical resemblance," she
said; "otherwise, my dear, we are utterly different."

Did she too, Rachel wondered, resent the aspersion of her integrity?

By the last post Rachel received her expected letter from Adrian
Flemming. Her aunt separated it from the others brought in by her maid
and passed it across to her niece with a slight hint of displeasure in
her face. "Miss Rachel Deane, _junior_," she said. "Really, it hadn't
occurred to me how difficult it will be to distinguish our letters. I
hope my friends won't take to addressing me as Miss Deane, _senior_.
Properly, of course, I am Miss Deane, and you Miss Rachel, but I'll
admit there's sure to be some confusion. Now, my dear, I expect you're
tired. You'd better run up to bed."

Rachel was willing enough to go. She was glad to have an opportunity to
read her letter in solitude; she was even more glad to get away from
the company of this living echo of herself. "I believe I should go mad
if I had to live with her," she reflected. "I should get into the way