“Your wife!” she said, retreating strategically toward the door.
He said with unruffled calm, “I am not married.”
“Not married?” she cried. “Then—have I been under a misapprehension? Are you not Mr. Macclesfield?”
“Certainly not,” he replied. “I am Carlyon.”
He appeared to think that this statement was sufficient to apprise her of all she could possibly wish to know about him. She was wholly bewildered, and could only stammer, “I beg your pardon! I thought—But where, then, is Mrs. Macclesfield?”
“I do not think I know the lady.”
“You do not know her! Is this not her house, sir?”
“No,” he said.
“Oh, there has been some dreadful mistake!” she cried distressfully. “I do not know how it can have come about! Indeed, I am very sorry, Mr. Carlyon, but I think I am come to the wrong house!”
“So it would appear, ma’am.”