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Updated: June 4, 2025
It bore a sudden and astonishing likeness to the profile of Cyril Povey; a resemblance unmistakable and finally decisive. The nose, and the curve of the upper lip were absolutely Cyril's. Matthew Peel- Swynnerton felt very queer. He felt like a criminal in peril of being caught in the act, and he could not understand why he should feel so.
He turned over the tattered leaves of the embroidery-book with the same naive, charmed astonishment, and carried the book away to the studio. "I must show that to Swynnerton," he said. As for her, the epithet 'beautiful' seemed a strange epithet to apply to a mere piece of honest stitchery done in a pattern, and a stitch with which she had been familiar all her life.
"I suppose so," assented Peel-Swynnerton. The conversation fell for a few moments. "Staying here long?" Mr. Mardon demanded, having added up Peel- Swynnerton as a man of style and of means, and being puzzled by his presence at that table. "I don't know," said Peel-Swynnerton. This was a lie, justified in the utterer's opinion as a repulse to Mr.
"Not yet," he replied. "I'll try 'em one of these days." Ten days later, on a Sunday when he chanced not to have gone out with his aristocratic friend Matthew Peel- Swynnerton, he did at length open the box and take out a cigar. "Now," he observed roguishly, cutting the cigar, "we shall see, Mrs. Plover!" He often called her Mrs. Plover, for fun.
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