I have lived with Anne all my life.

I _must_ have seen the man somewhere." "If you can identify him by Mrs.Inchbare's description," returned Sir Patrick, "you will be a great deal cleverer than I am.

Here is the picture of the man, as painted by the landlady: Young; middle-sized; dark hair, eyes, and complexion; nice temper, pleasant way of speaking.
Leave out 'young,' and the rest is the exact contrary of Mr.Delamayn.
So far, Mrs.Inchbare guides us plainly enough.

But how are we to apply her description to the right person?
There must be, at the lowest computation, five hundred thousand men in England who are young, middle-sized, dark, nice-tempered, and pleasant spoken.

One of the footmen here answers that description in every particular." "And Arnold answers it," said Blanche--as a still stronger instance of the provoking vagueness of the description.
"And Arnold answers it," repeated Sir Patrick, quite agreeing with her.
They had barely said those words when Arnold himself appeared, approaching Sir Patrick with a pack of cards in his hand.
There--at the very moment when they had both guessed the truth, without feeling the slightest suspicion of it in their own minds--there stood Discovery, presenting itself unconsciously to eyes incapable of seeing it, in the person of the man who had passed Anne Silvester off as his wife at the Craig Fernie inn! The terrible caprice of Chance, the merciless irony of Circumstance, could go no further than this.