“That, of course, is your privilege. Don’t be too hard, if you can help it. Try and remember me, if you can, as I was before——”
“I shall not remember you at all, Mr. Gallatin.”
He started as she spoke his name. “You knew?”
“Yes, I knew. You—your name was familiar to me.”
“You mean that you had heard of me?” he asked wonderingly.
She knew that she had said too much, but she went on coldly.
“In New York one hears of Philip Gallatin. I knew—there in the woods. I discovered your name by accident—upon your letters.”
She spoke shortly—hesitantly, as if every word was wrung from her by an effort of will.
“I see,” he said, “and what you heard of me—was not good?”