"I know her," said Sara quietly. "It's very clever, Mr. Booth."
"There is something hauntingly familiar about it," he went on, looking at the sketch with a frown of perplexity. "I've seen her somewhere, but for the life of me I can't place her. Perhaps in a crowded street, or the theatre, or a railway train—just a fleeting glimpse, you know. But in any event, I got a lasting impression. Queer things like that happen, don't you think so?"
Mrs. Wrandall leaned forward and spoke to Leslie. As he turned, she handed him the envelope, without comment.
"Great Scott!" he exclaimed.
"Mr. Booth is a mind reader," she explained. "He has been reading your thoughts, dear boy."
Booth understood, and grinned.
"You don't mean to say—" began the dumfounded Leslie, still staring at the sketch. "Upon my word, it's a wonderful likeness, old chap. I didn't know you'd ever met her."
"Met her?" cried Booth, an amiable conspirator. "I've never met her."
"See here, don't try anything like that on me. How could you do this if you've never seen—"
"He IS a mind reader," cried Sara.