"Why, Mr. West," she said, "don't you know me? I'm Cynthia Mortimer--a
very old friend of yours. And I'm very glad to meet you again."
There was a quiver as of laughter in her words. The confidence of her
action compelled some species of response. West took the outstretched
hand for a single instant; but his eyes, meeting hers, held no
recognition.
"I am afraid," he said stonily, "that your memory is better than mine."
It was a check that would have disheartened many women; not so Cynthia
Mortimer.
She opened her eyes wide for a second, the next quite openly she laughed
at him.
"You are not a bit cleverer than you used to be," she said. "But I
rather like you for it all the same. Come, Mr. West, I'm sure you will
make an effort when I tell you that I want to be remembered. You once
did a big thing for me which I have never forgotten--which I never shall
forget."
West was frowning. "You have made a mistake," he said briefly.
She laughed again, softly, audaciously. There was a delicate flush on
her face, and her eyes were very bright.
"No, Mr. Nat Verney West," she said, sinking her voice. "I'm a lot
cleverer than you think, and I don't make mistakes of that sort."
He shrugged his shoulders, and was silent. She was laughing still.
"Why can't we begin where we left off?" she asked ingenuously. "Back
numbers are so dull, and we were long past this stage anyway.
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