“No, I said she called herself so. Her real name, unfortunately, is much more like mine. So far she has escaped detection and conviction, though often only by the skin of her teeth. Until she is taken up and convicted I suppose I shall be exposed constantly to the same annoyance of having her mistaken for me.” “But won’t it be a great scandal for the family?” “Not necessarily. Her real name might not come out. But even if it did, I think it would be better than for me to suffer the constant misery of being mistaken myself for a pickpocket, and by people who ought to know me better,” she ended with a flash of anger. Gerard hung his head, but he could not feel very guilty. “The resemblance is indeed extraordinary,” he murmured. She shook her head with a bitter little laugh. “I see you don’t believe it is only a resemblance,” she said. “Then pray what do you think about it? At least I know. You must believe that I pick pockets for a livelihood.” “Miss Davison!” “Well, what other explanation is possible?” He sat back again, pained and uneasy. “I wish,” he burst out suddenly, “that you would let me see you and this girl--side by side.” She smiled contemptuously. “I see you don’t believe what I’ve told you,” she said. “Frankly, I can’t.” “You can’t believe that a face seen for a few moments--in a crowd--in the darkness--surmounted by an old tawdry hat with a bedraggled feather--was any other than mine?” Gerard replied stoutly-- “Well, no I can’t. I could believe myself mistaken with regard to any other person’s face. I could think I had let my imagination play tricks with me; but not with your face.” “Why not with mine?” Their heads were close together, the music was playing, and there was nobody near enough to hear. So he blurted out the words which he had that morning thought it impossible that he should ever say to this woman who charmed him, but tantalized him at the same time. “Because I love you.” “You love a pickpocket?” “No, no, no.” “But it’s the same thing, isn’t it?” “No. I don’t believe your explanation; I can’t. But I don’t believe either that you could be guilty of anything that was not absolutely honorable and right. I’d rather believe that my own senses had betrayed me than believe one word of anything but good about you.” When he had once begun Gerard found himself fluent enough. He would rather have expected, if he had left himself time to expect anything, that Miss Davison would have affected to scoff at his abrupt confession, and would have laughed at him and as it were brushed him from her path with scorn, putting on airs of indignation that he should dare to make a sort of accusation against her in one breath, and a declaration of love to her the next. But she did nothing of the sort. On the contrary, he saw her face change, the muscles tremble, the head bend, and a tear glitter in her eye. “Thank you,” she said, in a hoarse whisper. “I--I--we’d better go now, I think. Lady--Lady Jennings--”