"She looks like my sister-in-law; the eyes, the mouth, the way the hair's done,—the whole thing."
"Which do you mean? You have got about a dozen."
"Why, Georgina, of course,—Georgina Roy. She's awfully like."
"Do you call her your sister-in-law?" Percival Theory asked. "You must want very much to claim her."
"Well, she's handsome enough. You have got to invent some new name, then. Captain Benyon, what do you call your brother-in-law's second wife?" Mrs. Percival continued, turning to her neighbor, who still stood staring at the portrait. At first he had looked without seeing; then sight, and hearing as well, became quick. They were suddenly peopled with thrilling recognitions. The Bourbon princess—the eyes, the mouth, the way the hair was done; these things took on an identity, and the gaze of the painted face seemed to fasten itself to his own. But who in the world was Georgina Roy, and what was this talk about sisters-in-law? He turned to the little lady at his side a countenance unexpectedly puzzled by the problem she had airily presented to him.
"Your brother-in-law's second wife? That's rather complicated."
"Well, of course, he need n't have married again!" said Mrs. Percival, with a small sigh.
"Whom did he marry?" asked Benyon, staring.
