“Then you can’t imagine what it is to have been engaged and nearly married—and then to find yourself free again. Everything associated with the minute comes to be imprinted on your memory. That’s why I’ve thought of it, though I didn’t for the minute recognize you as the man.” “And now that you have recognized me—” “I hope you’ll do as I asked you before, and come and see us again.” She added, as she was about to turn away, “How’s Annette?” I had been puzzled hitherto; I was now bewildered. “You mean Annette Van Elstine? Did you know she was my cousin?” “Of course! Didn’t she bring you?” “Bring me?” I stammered. “Bring me—where?” “Why, to our house!” “When?” “The time we’re talking about—when you upset Mrs. Sillinger’s coffee and broke the cup.” It is difficult to say whether I was relieved or not. I could only falter, “I—I don’t believe I’m the man.” She came back two or three steps toward me. “Why, of course you’re the man! Isn’t your name Melbury?” “Yes—but—but I’m not the only Melbury. Could it have been my—my brother, Jack?” “What’s your name?” “Frank.” She gazed at me a minute before saying: “Then—then I think it must have been—your brother. I remember now that Annette did call him Jack.” She continued, “But what did you mean when—when you said it was you?” “Don’t you know?” “I haven’t the remotest idea.” “Look at me again.” “I can’t look at you again, because I’m looking at you all the time. You’re most wonderfully like your brother.” “I don’t think I am. I met my uncle Van Elstine in the street the other day and he didn’t know me.” “Oh, well, strangers often see resemblances that escape members of a family. All I get by looking at you is that I see your brother. He was awfully nice. We so—we so wished he’d come back. He—he wasn’t like everybody else.” “He’s married now.” I wonder if I am right in thinking that a slight shadow crossed her face. There may have been, too, a forced jauntiness in her tone as she said, “Oh, is he?” I nodded. She turned away again, but again wheeled half round to face me. “Well, now we know what I meant; but what on earth did you mean?” I drew myself up for real inspection. “Can’t you think?” She shook her head. “I must say you seemed inordinately penitent over a broken cup, even if Mrs. Sillinger was so cross. She said you spilled the coffee all over her dress; but you didn’t.” “You mean Jack.” “Oh yes! What a bother! I shall always get you mixed up in the future.” “I hope not—for his sake.” “Now don’t tease me. Tell me where we met.” “If I do—” She brightened, the smile of the scarlet lips growing vividly brilliant. “I know. It was at the Millings’, at Tarrytown.” “I’m afraid not.” “Then it was at the Wynfords’, at Old Westbury? They always have so many people there—” “Think again.” “What’s the good of thinking when, if I could remember you, I should do it right away?” “It seems extraordinary to me that you can have forgotten.”