"Your name is Markham, isn't it?" she asked.
"Yes—how did you know?" he asked in surprise.
She indicated a packing case in the corner which was addressed in letters six inches high.
"Oh," he said. "Of course."
"You're the Mr. Markham, aren't you?"
"I'm not sure about that. I'm this Mr. Markham."
"Markham, the portrait painter?"
"That's what I profess. Why?"
"Oh, nothing."
He examined her, puzzling again, wiping the cup in his fingers with great particularity.