The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. It seemed incredible that she and her aunt were, indeed, creatures of the same blood, only by a birth or so different beings, and part of that same broad interlacing stream of human life that has invented the fauns and nymphs, Astarte, Aphrodite, Freya, and all the twining beauty of the gods. "Nobody composes any more, nobody paints, nobody writes—I mean, on a par with what we've just heard. He jumps the words out of your mouth; he takes hold of what you have to say before you have had time to express it properly. We are expecting a visit from Sir John Ferringhall at any moment.
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