“How do you know?” Grey asked. The situation was growing interesting; disclosures were imminent, and they were coming quite naturally without his having had to resort to the plan he had mapped out.
“How does one ever know such things?” she replied, a little annoyance in her tone. “You were my Great-uncle Schlippenbach’s nephew and I am your niece. I call you Uncle Max and you call me Minna.”
“Ah, yes, that is very true,” Grey went on, banteringly, and he remembered what O’Hara had told him of how they had met in London a week after his setting foot on English soil; “but you never saw me in your life until two months ago. Do you remember how we first met?”
“I have a very vivid recollection of it. It was at dinner at the Folsonham, in London. I wore a pale green frock. And poor Great-uncle Schlippenbach said: ‘Minna, my dear, this is your Uncle Max, who hasn’t seen you since you were a baby.’”
“And what else did he say?”
“Oh, I don’t remember all the conversation.”
“Did he say anything about where we were going, and what we were going for?”
“I don’t think he said anything then. But you must remember. You were as much there as I was.”
“Ah, but I was not listening,” Grey pleaded, his eyes a-twinkle. “I had something better to do.”
“What was that, pray?”