"Yes, very good—better than yours. That is why I brought you here to-day—to refresh your memory."
There was something of the old banter in her voice, and something in her expression, inscrutable though it was, that for some reason set his heart to beating. He wondered if she could be playing with him. He could not understand, and said as much.
"You brought me here to tell me a story," he concluded. "Isn't that what you said? I shall miss the Lake Placid hack if we do not start back presently."
Again that inscrutable, disturbing look.
"Is it so necessary that you should start to-day?" she asked. "Mr. Meelie, I am sure, will appreciate your company just as much another time. And to-day is ours."
That look—it kept him from saying something bitter then.
"The story—you are forgetting it," he said, quietly.
"No, I am not forgetting." The banter had all gone out of her voice, and it had become gentle—almost tender. A soft, far-away look had come into her eyes. "I am only trying to think how to tell it—how to begin. I thought perhaps you might help me—only you don't—your memory is so poor."
He had no idea of her meaning now, and ventured no comment.
"You do not help me," she went on. "I must tell my little story alone. After all, it is only a sequel—do you care for sequels?"