"
Idina had a contralto voice, with tones in it almost as deep as those of
a very young man. It was musical, and gave an effect of careful
training, as if she had studied voice-production and had become
self-conscious through over-practising.
"It's strange, the resemblance in those names," the other woman
murmured, almost as if speaking to herself. She was small and extremely
thin, with insignificant features and sallow, slightly freckled
complexion. But, though she was one of those women who might be of any
age between twenty-eight and forty, her piercing gray eyes under black
eyebrows, her quivering nostrils and slightly pointed chin, gave her a
look of intense vitality. She was like a powerful if small electric
lamp, purposely veiled by a dun-coloured shade. "It's doubly strange,
because"----she went on; then let her voice trail away into silence
rather than break off abruptly. She had a slight accent suggesting the
Middle West of America.
"Because--what?" Miss Bland caught her up with impatience.
The other deliberated before answering. Then she replied: "I'd rather
not say anything more yet. I may be mistaken--very likely am. Wait until
I've seen your Princess and this girl together. Then--probably I shall
know."
Idina Bland glanced at her angrily, and opened her lips, but closed them
again, and in silence began to walk on toward the Villa Mirasole. The
neat little figure of her friend in its khaki-brown tailor-made dress
kept up with her briskly.
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