Anna looked up with a doubtful smile of non-recognition.
“My name is certainly Pellissier,” she said, “but I am very sorry—I do not recognize you in the least.”
The tall young man dropped his eye-glass and smiled.
“Had the pleasure of dining with you at the ‘Ambassador’s’ one night, before the show, you know—last September I think it was. Charley Pevenill was our host. My name is Armytage—Lord Ernest Armytage.”
Anna had suddenly stiffened. She regarded the young man coldly. Her tone was icy.
“I am afraid that you are making a mistake,” she said. “I was never at any such dinner, and I am quite sure that I do not know you.”
“Perhaps you remember me, Miss Pellissier,” the second young man interposed. “I had the pleasure of—er—meeting you more than once, I believe.”
A spot of colour flared in Anna’s cheek as she glanced towards the speaker. Something in his smile, in the cynical suggestiveness of his deferential tone, maddened her.
“To the best of my belief,” she said, with quiet dignity, “I have never seen either of you before in my life.”