“It is plain,” said Merry gently, “that, for some reason, you did not wish me to recognize you. What that reason was I will not ask, for it is none of my business.”
She made a feeble gesture of protest.
“I was so startled—so astonished. I did not think of seeing you here, and it was a shock. Yet—I knew you instantly!”
She spoke the final words in a tone of triumph, and he almost fancied she was reproving him for his failure to remember her name.
“How could I forget?” she went on, her voice trembling a little. “You have not changed—only—you’re a little older and—and—handsomer! There—I’ve said it! I suppose it was bold and unladylike, but it would come out.”
Merry was compelled to laugh.
“Miss Dugan,” he said, yet not after the manner of the common flatterer, “you have given me the very reason why I did not remember you. You are older and—handsomer. When I met you I thought you were—I won’t tell you what I did think, for it will sound like a silly attempt to flatter.”
“I’m glad you did not say it!” she exclaimed. “I know I’m not homely. Frank of me to say so, isn’t it? But I do not believe in false modesty, Mr. Merriwell, and I have sense enough to know what my mirror tells me. Now, that is unconventional, you must confess.”
It was, in truth, and something about it charmed and attracted him as he had been charmed and attracted by this girl the first time he saw her. She was not merely an ordinary girl who did the same things and said the same things as other girls. She had ways of her own which made her seem original and attractive and fascinating. To himself Frank confessed that she possessed a most dangerous power of fascination if she but knew how to wield it.
“Rather unconventional,” he acknowledged, laughing. “But you have not explained why you failed to bow to me when you recognized me on the street.”