This sort of talk had become far too sentimental to suit Merry, and he was relieved when the waiter brought their orders. Over the oysters and soup he chatted as brightly as he could, seeking to divert her mind, but though she smiled at his bright sayings and jokes, he could see she was still thinking of other things. Giving up trying to amuse her that way, he suddenly asked:
“Miss Dugan, do you mind telling me how you happened to be here in New York? I do not wish to seem inquisitive, but——”
“Perhaps you hadn’t better ask,” she said.
“Of course you need not tell, but it seems strange that you are so far from Maine. Are you alone in the city?”
“At present—yes.”
“You came here alone?”
“Yes.”
“When will you return to Maine?”
“Never, I hope!” she almost fiercely exclaimed. “Why should I go back there? My father is dead, and I have no home now. Back there I am still known as the daughter of old Dugan, the smuggler. Here I am not known at all. I can be anything I please.”
Even as she said this a look of anxiety came to her face, and she added: