"Hester Storm?" he reflected. "No, I—I can't say that I do."
He lifted a hand to his forehead, then ran his fingers back through his thick hair, and Hester noticed a single white lock threading the black mass just above the temple. Where had she seen a white lock like that?
Again he ran his fingers through his hair and paused, with arm lifted and elbow forward, while his hand grasped the back of his head. It was an awkward position and—she had seen it before—she had seen a man somewhere—hold his head like that and—look straight before him the way this man was looking.
"I must have been mistaken," she said quietly. She began to wonder if Anton suspected her. Could he know anything? How long had he been standing at that green door before she saw him? "Why are you staring at me like that?" she asked.
"Just to make sure, but—no, I don't know you; I've never seen you." He put down his arm and listened a moment to the reassuring sound of the typewriter. "What are you doing here, anyway?"
"I'm doing sewing for Miss Thompson," she answered innocently. She spoke in a low tone, and she noticed that he spoke in a low tone.
"What made you think I knew you?" he continued.
"Why I—I don't know. It was just an idea."
"Do you know me? I mean have you ever seen me before?"
She shook her head. "I thought I had, but—I've got you mixed with somebody else. No harm, is there?" she added, with a little laugh that parted her red lips while her dark eyes glowed on him alluringly.