I was ashamed of myself for having been violently excited at the moment by the new thought which Nugent had started in my mind; I was honestly indignant at his uselessly disturbing me with the vainest of all vain hopes.

The one wise thing to do in the future, was to caution this flighty and inconsequent young man to keep his mad notion about Lucilla to himself--and to dismiss it from my own thoughts, at once and for ever.
Just as I arrived at that sensible resolution, I was recalled to what was going on in the room, by Lucilla's voice, addressing me by my name.
"The likeness is wonderful," she said.

"Still, I think I can find a difference between them." (The only difference between them was in the contrast of complexion and in the contrast of manner--both these being dissimilarities which appealed more or less directly to the eye.) "What difference do you find ?" I asked.
She slowly came towards me, with an anxious perplexed face; pondering as she advanced.
"I can't explain it," she answered--after a long silence.
When Lucilla left him, Nugent rose from his chair.

He abruptly--almost roughly--took his brother's hand.

He spoke to his brother in a strangely excited, feverish, headlong way.
"My dear fellow, now I have seen her, I congratulate you more heartily than ever.