She said the last words almost beneath her breath, and yet the Squire heard them and looked at her curiously.
“You don’t look like your mother, Gisela,” he said. “And yet sometimes there is a note in your voice, the way you say something, the manner in which you hold your head, that recalls her almost unbearably.”
“I am glad,” Gisela answered. And then she bent forward to touch his hand. “Thank you,” she said a little shyly. “Thank you for having me here all these years. It was kind of you.”
“What’s that? Nonsense! Stuff and nonsense!” the Squire blustered. “You mustn’t talk like that.”
Gisela bent forward and kissed his cheek.
“We are going out tonight together,” she said. “Do you realise that we have never been out alone?”
He smiled at her with something of the gaiety that had once
