Please go on."
He began to laugh at her with gentle ridicule.
"Impatient for the third act? Well, the scheme worked all right. But
it so chanced that the woman decided to be subtle, too. She knew him
for an old friend the instant she saw him. But he pretended to have
forgotten that old affair in New York. He didn't want her to feel in
any way under an obligation. So he played the humble stranger, and
she--sweetheart--she played the simple, country maiden, and she did it
to perfection. I think, you know, that she was a little afraid her name
and title would frighten him away."
"And so he humoured her?" said Priscilla, a slight quiver in her deep
voice.
"They humoured each other, sweetheart. That was where it began to be
funny. Now I am going to get you to tell me the rest of the story."
She turned towards him again, her face very pale.
"Yes; it's very funny, no doubt--funny for the man, I mean; for the
woman, I am not so sure. How does she know that he really cared for her
from the beginning; that he was always quite honest in his motive? How
can she possibly know this?"
Again for a moment their eyes met. There was no hint of dismay in the
man's brown face.
"She does know it, sweetheart," he answered, with confidence. "I can't
tell you how. Probably she couldn't, either. He was going to explain
everything, you know, under the dome of St.
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