It was Annabel who spoke. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. ‘Is there a resemblance?’ ‘This is Mary Remenham?’ ‘That is my late niece, yes. It was enough. "More than three hundred weight, Sir," replied the man. "You were a little out of your head. "I will," answered the prisoner. Emile looked at her, then down, and clearly caught the bright gleam on the floor. Ann Veronica forgot him as soon as she was through the gate, and her face resumed its expression of stern preoccupation.
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