“I was sure I knew you when I saw you first near Sixth Avenue,” he declared. “Yet I could not recall your name. As a rule, I remember names perfectly. In this case, however, the only time we ever met was up there in Maine, and seeing you here, I was unable to think where and when our meeting had taken place. It is not so very strange, for the surroundings here are somewhat different from what they were in Maine.”
“Still,” she asserted, “I knew you the moment my eyes rested on your face.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Yet you did not pause.”
“No.”
“You did not bow.”
“No.”
“You hurried on without a sign of recognition.”
His manner was an accusation, and she bowed her head, as if ashamed of what she had done.