All at once an explanation of their conversation at cross-purposes flashed across Betty. “Dr. Eaton,” she said, “you must have confused me with some one else. Who do you think I am?”
“You are Miss Georgia Ames,” announced Dr. Eaton with calm conviction.
“Oh, no, I’m not,” gasped Betty, and then, as the absurdity of the situation struck her, she was overcome by laughter.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, when she could speak, “but you can’t imagine how funny it is that I should be taken for Georgia Ames. If you only knew me, and—and—Georgia, you’d appreciate the joke.”
“Very likely I should,” assented Professor Eaton genially. “As it is, I’m very much puzzled. In class I have always supposed that you were Miss Ames, and just now, when Mrs. Kent introduced me, I was sure she said Ames.”
“Wales and Ames do sound a little alike,” admitted Betty, “but that’s the only similarity between us.” Then she laughed again. “It’s too bad that you can’t meet Georgia, when you’ve wanted to so long. But she doesn’t live in this house.”
“No?” said Dr. Eaton absently. “But what puzzles me is to think who she can be,—if she really isn’t you. What does she look like, Miss Wales?”
Betty hesitated. “Why, she—she’s very good-looking,” she stammered, “fine-looking, I mean, and she—she dresses very well indeed. She always carries handkerchiefs with real lace on them,” finished Betty swiftly.
“That just reminds me,” remarked Dr. Eaton, setting his ice cream plate on the table with a thud. “I have a handkerchief that belongs to her in one of my pockets this minute. It had lace on it, too. She dropped it one day in my classroom and I picked it up to give to the janitor and then forgot all about it. I mustn’t fail to return it to-morrow.”
“Do,” advised Betty, trying hard to keep sober. “She might want it.”