"What was that you said?" she asked; "what name did you call me?"
"What name? Why, your own, of course; what else should I call you, my dear Mrs. Ludlow?"
She started again at the repetition, then her eyes fell, and she said dreamily,
"But that is not my name--that is not my name." Bowker waited for a moment, and then said,
"You might as well pretend to have forgotten me and our talk at Elm Lodge that day that I came up to see Geoffrey."
"Elm Lodge! Geoffrey!--ah, good God, now I remember all!" said Margaret, in a kind of scream, raising herself in the chair, and wringing Bowker's hand.
"Hush, my dear Madam; don't excite yourself; I thought you would remember all; you--"
"You are Mr. Bowker!" said Margaret, pressing her hand to her head; "Mr. Bowker, whose story Geoff told me: Geoff! ah, poor, good Geoff! ah, dear, good Geoff! But why are you here? he hasn't sent you? Geoffrey has not sent you?"
"Geoffrey does not know I am here. He has been very ill; too ill to be told of all that has been going on; too ill to understand it, if he had been told. I heard by accident that you were living here, and that you had been ill; and I came to see if I could be of any service to you."
While he had been speaking, Margaret had sat with her head tightly clasped between her hands. When he finished, she looked up with a slightly dazed expression, and said, with an evident attempt at controlling her voice, "I see all now; you must pardon me, Mr. Bowker, for any incoherence or strangeness you may have noticed in my manner; but I have been very ill, and I feel sure that at times my mind wanders a little. I am better now. I was quite myself when you mentioned about your having heard of my illness, and offering me service; and I thank you very sincerely for your kindness."