"Call me David….. How nice my plain name sounds from your lips. Ruth and David. But I must hold myself in hand for the present. Still, I am glad you like me."
"Well, you have been so good and kind. We have done you a great deal of injury and you never blamed us. And you are just the man I have always pictured as the man I could love … David!"
"Well, it was only one little kiss, and I'm sure nobody saw us, dear. And later on, when you are my wife—"
"Don't you think we had better keep to business for the present?" Ruth said, demurely.
"Perhaps. There is one little point that you must clear up before we go any farther. How did you manage to furnish those two big dining-rooms exactly alike?"
"Why, the furniture is there. At the top of the house, in a large attic, all the furniture is stored."
"But the agent told me it had been removed."
"He was wrong. You can't expect the agent to recollect everything about a house. The place belonged to the lady whom we may call Mrs. Margaret Henson at one time. When her home scheme fell through she sold one house as it was. In the other she stored the furniture. Enid knew of all this, of course. We managed to get a latch—key to fit 218, and Enid and a man did the rest. Her idea was to keep you in the dark as much as possible. After the interview the furniture was put back again, and there you are."
"Diplomatic and clever, and decidedly original, not to say feminine. In the light of recently acquired knowledge I can quite see why your friends desired to preserve their secret. But they need not have taken all those precautions. Had they written—"
"They dared not. They were fearful as to what might become of the reply."