To-night he surpassed himself in suggestive talk, until, all at once, seeing Lady Dargan's eyes fixed on Gaston, he went silent, sitting back in his chair abstracted.

Soon, however, a warning glance from his wife brought him back and saved Lady Dargan from collapse; for it seemed impossible to talk alone to this ghost of her past.
At this moment Gaston heard a voice near: "As like as if he'd stepped out of the picture, if it weren't for the clothes.

A Gaston too!" The speaker was Lord Dargan.

He was talking to Archdeacon Varcoe.
Gaston followed Lord Dargan's glance to the portrait of that Sir Gaston Belward whose effigy he had seen.

He found himself in form, feature, expression; the bold vigilance of eye, the primitive activity of shoulder, the small firm foot, the nervous power of the hand.