And all the while I was puzzled with a persistent sense of recognition.

I told myself it was idiocy, for a man with a face like that must have hints of resemblance to a thousand people.

But the idea kept nagging at me till we reached our destination.
As we emerged from the station into the golden evening I saw Mary Lamington again.

She was with one of the Weekes girls, and after the Biggleswick fashion was bareheaded, so that the sun glinted from her hair.

Ivery swept his hat off and made her a pretty speech, while I faced her steady eyes with the expressionlessness of the stage conspirator.
'A charming child,' he observed as we passed on.