"But you loved _her_, Yorke; you worshipped Mary Cave. Your conduct, after all, was that of a man--never of a fortune-hunter."
"Ay, I _did_ love her; but then she was beautiful as the moon we do _not_ see to-night. There is naught like her in these days. Miss Helstone, maybe, has a look of her, but nobody else."
"Who has a look of her?"
"That black-coated tyrant's niece--that quiet, delicate Miss Helstone. Many a time I have put on my spectacles to look at the lassie in church, because she has gentle blue een, wi' long lashes; and when she sits in shadow, and is very still and very pale, and is, happen, about to fall asleep wi' the length of the sermon and the heat of the biggin', she is as like one of Canova's marbles as aught else."
"Was Mary Cave in that style?"

"But you loved her, Yorke; you worshipped Mary Cave. You were never a fortune-hunter."
"Ay, I did love her; but then she was beautiful as the moon. There is naught like her in these days. Miss Helstone, maybe, has a look of her, but nobody else."
"Who has a look of her?"
"That quiet, delicate Miss Helstone. Many a time I have looked at the lassie in church, when she sits in shadow, and is very still and very pale, like a marble statue."
"Was Mary Cave in that style?"
