She stared at him in silent intensity for a moment. "That's why I laughed at you. You were very curious."
"Am I so bad as all that?" he lamented.
She ignored the question. "Why should you be interested in me, sir?"
Mr. King was inspired to fabricate in the interest of psychical research. "Because I have heard that you are not the niece of old man Spantz." He watched intently to catch the effect of the declaration.
She merely stared at him; there was not so much as the flutter of an eyelid. "You have heard nothing of the kind," she said coldly.
"Well, I'll confess I haven't," he admitted cheerfully. "I was experimenting. I'm an amateur Sherlock Holmes. It pleases me to deduce that you are not related to the armourer. You don't look the part."
Now she smiled divinely. "And why not, pray? His sister was my mother."
"In order to establish a line on which to base my calculations, would you mind telling me who your father is?" He asked the question with his most appealing smile—a smile so frankly impudent that she could not resent it.
"My mother's husband," she replied in the same spirit.
"Well, that is quite a clue!" he exclaimed. "'Pon my soul, I believe I'm on the right track. Excuse me for continuing, but is he a count or a duke or just a—"