"You grant, of course, that I have reason to be puzzled," she said to him, unconstrainedly but entirely in earnest. She noticed that he was far from being unconstrained, and that a certain seriousness sat upon his strong features which she had not before observed. "It is plain that you knew this telegram was for me."
"Otherwise, of course," he replied, a little huskily, "I should not have presumed to sign for it. I should not have signed for it in any case had I not supposed you to be asleep. I feared, you see, that you might miss it."
"But you do not in the least appease my curiosity," said Louise, smiling somewhat nervously. "If you knew me—as it seems of course you do—I cannot understand why you did not reveal yourself when we had our little conversation a while ago."
"But I did not know—I should say I did not recall you then," he said, plainly flustered.
"You only add to the mystery," said Louise. "You will enlighten me, of course?"
He whirled his chair about so that, sitting back on the arm of it, he could face her.
"It is simple enough," he explained, with a hesitancy which Louise did not fail to note. "When the lad with the telegram came through the dining car, calling out your name, I could not fail, with that startling reminder, to remember——" He broke off as if reluctant to proceed.
"Yes?" put in Louise, a bit proddingly.
"Well, I could not fail to remember your father's daughter," he said in a low tone, obviously striving to regain some ease of manner.
"You know my father?" said Louise, her sense of the mystery of it all increasing rather than abating.