“I want to introduce you to Miss Lansdowne,” said he.
Lansdowne! The name was quite unfamiliar to Clifford. But as soon as he was introduced the puzzle came to pieces.
“I wanted so much to know you, Mr. King,” said the girl, who was pleasant, unaffected and amiable-looking. “I can see you don’t know me, and yet I know you very well.”
“That is not quite fair,” said Clifford. “I do remember your face perfectly well; it is your name only which is unfamiliar to me. I am certain I have never spoken to you in my life; you may be sure I should not have forgotten if I had.”
“I live near Stroan,” said Miss Lansdowne.
Clifford started, and his face clouded.
“I have often seen you about there,” went on the girl, “and I know intimately more than one of your friends there.”
“I have no friends there now,” said Clifford, with a sudden change to grave bitterness in his voice and manner.
“Well, you had friends there at one time, I think. Miss Bostal and her father, the Colonel, would, I am sure, be rather hurt to know that you no longer reckoned them as your friends.”
“The Bostals! Oh, yes,” answered Clifford, indifferently. “I know them, but Miss Bostal would hardly reckon me as a friend. I lost my place in her esteem, if I ever had any, by walking from Courtstairs to Stroan on a Sunday in a tourist’s suit.”