Her close propinquity filled with me wholly unreasonable agitation. I drew back. The removal of the cloak had disclosed a dark blue silk dress which fitted her, to my thinking, with the most marvellous perfection. There was a touch of white about her neck and wrists. Her beauty struck me more even than at first--it awed me. Yet at the back of my mind was born a dim fancy that somewhere in the flesh I had seen this enchanting vision before. I was at a loss as to the words with which I ought to address her, speaking at last, blunderingly enough. “Have you any reason why you should wish to conceal your name?” She shook her head. “Then tell me what it is.” “But I don’t know. Have I a name?” “I presume that, with the rest of the world, you have. Pray do not suppose, however, that I wish to force myself into your confidence. I would only suggest that I think it might be better, for both our sakes, if you could give me some idea of where you came from before you entered my room.” “Did I enter your room? Oh yes, I remember; but--I don’t remember anything more.” She put her hand up to her head with the gesture which had previously struck me. “Where did I come from?” “I don’t know if you are intentionally trifling, but if you are unable to supply the information, I certainly cannot.” Something in my manner seemed to occasion her distress. She moved towards me anxiously, like a timid child who stands in fear of admonition. “Why do you look like that? Are you angry?” I knew not what to think or what to feel; but, at least, I was not angry. If she was playing a part, which I for one was disposed to doubt, she acted with such plausibility that I was conscious of my incapacity to discover in what the trick consisted. I perceived that, after all, this was a case for Mrs. Peddar. “The housekeeper is a most superior person--a Mrs. Peddar. She will be of more assistance to you than I can be. Will you allow me to tell her that you are here?” “Why not? Of course you can tell her--if you like.” This was said with such an air of innocence, and with such an entire absence of suspicion that there could be anything dubious in her position, that I myself was conscious of a sense of shame at the thoughts which filled my mind. I moved towards the door. She stopped me. “Who are you going to tell?” “The housekeeper--Mrs. Peddar.” “Oh.” This was with a little touch of doubt. “She’s a woman. You’re a man. I’m a woman.” She said this with the utmost gravity, as if she were giving utterance to portentous facts which she had just discovered. She seemed to shiver. “Is she--nice? Will she--be kind to me?” I registered a mental vow that she should be kind to her, or I would know the reason why; I said as much, though with less emphasis of language. Then I left the room.