"We'll wait on each other," she smiled.
A sense of exquisite intimacy with this girl, or woman (he knew not what to call her) took possession of Jack. For a few minutes they ate, and he talked of anything that flashed into his mind. When Lyda had finished her milk he jumped up, and filled the glass again. Then she said abruptly: "I recognized you, at the theatre—from yesterday. Did you think I would?"
"No!" Jack reddened to his sun-bleached hair.
"But—you must have known I was in Claremanagh's study when—you were there."
"I—wasn't sure."
"Yet you thought so! You're not a man who can lie well. And you are the cousin of Claremanagh's wife. You thought badly of me."
"I'd no right to think badly," Jack staved her off. "It wasn't my affair!"
"I asked you here to-night to make it your affair."
Jack had a shock of disappointment. That wonderful, heart-piercing first look of hers which he had read, "You are the man: I am the woman!" hadn't meant much after all.
"You see," Lyda went on, "I think that perhaps you and I have known each other a long time: in another life: perhaps in more lives than one. Souls that have been friends—or more than friends—group together on earth many times, no doubt. Did you feel this when we met to-night?"