Now a pretty woman in tears is, as everyone knows, a sight to melt a heart of stone, especially if that heart be masculine. This woman was extremely pretty, and Stewart’s heart was very masculine, with nothing granitic about it.
“Oh, come,” he protested, “it can’t be so bad as that! Let us sit down and talk this thing out quietly. Evidently there is a mistake somewhere.”
“Then you did not expect me?” she demanded, mopping her eyes.
“Expect you? No—except as the fulfillment of a fairy-tale.”
“You do not know who I am?”
“I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“Nor why I am here?”
“No.”
“Ah, ciel!” she breathed, “then I am lost!” and she turned so pale that Stewart thought she was going to faint.
“Lost!” he protested. “In what way lost? What do you mean?”