She shook her head.
“It isn’t flattery,” she said, “it’s the truth. You may be a few years older, and Spencer had a very nice moustache, which you haven’t, but you are really not unlike. Mr. Ruff, do tell me where he is!”
Peter Ruff coughed.
“You must remember,” he said, “that Mr. Fitzgerald’s absence was caused by events of a somewhat unfortunate character.”
“I know all about it,” she answered, with a little sigh.
“You can appreciate the fact, therefore,” Peter Ruff continued, “that as his friend and well-wisher I can scarcely disclose his whereabouts without his permission. Will you tell me exactly why you want to meet him again?”
She blushed—looked down and up again—betrayed, in fact, all the signs of confusion which might have been expected from her.
“Must I tell you that?” she asked.
“You are married, are you not?” Peter Ruff asked, looking down at her wedding ring.
She bit her lip with vexation. What a fool she had been not to take it off!