“Don’t know me, eh? I like that. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?”
A little sensation followed upon his words. Miss Ellicot pursed her lips and sat a little more upright. The lady whose husband had been Mayor of Hartlepool looked at Anna and sniffed. Mrs. White became conscious of a distinct sense of uneasiness, and showed it in her face. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. On the other hand the two young men who sat on either side of Anna were already throwing murderous glances at the newcomer.
“My name,” Anna replied calmly, “is certainly Pellissier, but I repeat that I do not know you. I never have known you.”
He unfolded his serviette with fingers which shook all the time. His eyes never left her face. An ugly flush stained his cheeks.
“I’ve plenty of pals,” he said, “who, when they’ve been doing Paris on the Q.T., like to forget all about it—even their names. But you——”
Something seemed to catch his breath. He never finished his sentence. There was a moment’s breathless and disappointed silence. If only he had known it, sympathy was almost entirely with him. Anna was no favourite at No. 13 Montague Street.
She shrugged her shoulders.
“You appear,” she said, without any sign of anger in her tone, and with unruffled composure, “to be a very impertinent person. Do you mind talking to some one else.”
Mrs. White leaned forward in her chair with an anxious smile designed to throw oil upon the troubled waters.
“Come,” she said. “We mustn’t have any unpleasantness, and Mr. Hill’s first night back amongst us, too. No doubt there’s some little mistake. We all get deceived sometimes. Mr. Hill, I hope you won’t find everything cold. You’re a little late, you must remember, and we are punctual people here.”