"'Tis a pretty interpretation to put upon the words, but the words came first, I fear, and suggested the explanation." "You should not blame me for the words, but rather yourself. An awkward speech, madam, implies startled senses, and so should be reckoned a more genuine compliment than the most nicely-ordered eulogy." "That makes your peace," said she, much to my relief, for this work of gallantry was ever discomforting to me, my flatteries being of the heaviest and causing me no small labour in the making. "That makes your peace. I accept the explanation." "And will answer the question?" said I, returning to the charge. "You deserve no less," she assented. "But indeed, I have no recollection of your face, and so can speak with no greater certainty than yourself. Perchance your name might jog my memory." "I am called Morrice Buckler," said I. At that she started in her saddle and gathered up the reins as though intending to ride off. "Then I can assure you on the point," she said hurriedly. "You and I have never met." I was greatly astonished by this sudden action which she made. 'Twas as though she was frightened; and I knew no reason why any one should fear me, least of all a stranger. But what she did next astonished me far more; for she dropped the reins and looked me over curiously, saying with a little laugh: "So you are Morrice Buckler. I gave you credit for horn-spectacles at the very least." Something about her--was it her manner or her voice?--struck me as singularly familiar to me, and I exclaimed: "Surely, surely, madam, it is true. Somewhere we have met." "Nowhere," she answered, enjoying my mystification. "Have you ever been presented to Lady Tracy, wife of Sir William Tracy?" "Not that I remember," said I, still more puzzled, "nor have I ever heard the name." "Then you should be satisfied, for I am Lady Tracy." "But you spoke of horn-spectacles. How comes it that you know so much concerning me?" "Nay," she laughed. "You go too fast, Mr. Buckler. I know nothing concerning you save that some injustice has been done you. I was told of a homespun student, glum and musty as an old book, and I find instead a town-gallant point-de-vice, who will barter me compliments with the best of them." "You got your knowledge, doubtless, from Hugh Marston," I replied, with a glance at the door; "and I only wonder the description was not more unflattering." "I did not mean him," she said slowly. "For I did not even know that you were acquainted with"--she paused, and looked me straight in the face--"with my brother."