Gretchen had blue eyes, and fair hair, and fair complexion, and so had she, and so had hundreds of German girls, and all Arthur had ever said to her had never brought to her mind a thought like the two faces in the mirror.

_What if it were so ?_ That was the thought which had flashed like lightning through her brain, making her so weak that she grasped Arthur's arm to steady herself as she tried to speak composedly.
'You are white as your dress,' he said.

'It is this confounded hot room; let us sit nearer the window.' They sat down together on a sofa, and taking up a newspaper, Arthur fanned Jerrie gently, while she said to him: 'Do you really think I look like Gretchen ?' 'Yes; except that you are taller.

You might be her daughter.' 'Had she--had Gretchen a daughter ?' was Jerrie's next question, put hesitatingly.
'None that I ever heard of,' Arthur replied.

'Why do you ask that ?' 'And her name when a girl was Marguerite Heinrich, was it not ?' Jerrie went on.
'Yes.