Sir Baldwin had made an extraordinary pause, his hand half way
to his hat, his lantern jaws fallen suddenly apart. Mrs. Steel, though
slower at her part of the obvious recognition, was only a second slower,
and thereupon stood abashed and ashamed in the eyes of all who saw; but
only for another second at the most; then Sir Baldwin Gibson not only
raised his hat, but held out his hand in a fatherly way, and as she took
it Rachel's color changed from livid white to ruby red.
Yet even Rachel was mistress of herself so quickly that the one or two
eye-witnesses of this scene, such as Mrs. Uniacke and Charles Langholm,
who saw that it had a serious meaning, without dreaming what that
meaning was, were each in hopes that no one else had seen as much as
they. Sir Baldwin plunged at once into amiable and fluent conversation,
and before many moments Rachel's replies were infected with an
approximate assurance and ease; then Langholm turned to his juvenile
companion, and put a question in the form of a fib.
"So that is your father," said he. "I seem, do you know, to know his
face?"
Little Miss Gibson fell an easy prey.
"You probably do; he is the judge, you know!"
"The judge, is he?"
"Yes; and I wanted to ask you something just now in the tent.
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