"Are you going to answer accordingly?"
"Not at all. I was wondering which I wanted to think myself. I wish I had been with you. I should have known."
"Would you?" King spoke eagerly. "Would you mind telling me how?"
"I can't tell you how. Of course I came to know her looks much better than you; it really isn't strange that after seeing her only twice you couldn't be sure. I don't think any change of dress or environment could have hidden her from me. The question is, of course, why—if it was she—she should have chosen not to seem to know you—unless—"
"Yes—"
She looked straight at him. "Unless—she is not the poor girl she seemed to be. And that explanation doesn't appeal to me. I have known of poor girls pretending to be rich, but I have never, outside of a sensational novel, known a rich girl to pretend to be poor, unless for a visit to a poor quarter for charitable purposes. What possible object could there be in a girl's going about selling books unless she needed to do it? And she allowed me—" She stopped, shaking her head. "No, Jordan, that was not our little friend—or if it was, she was in that car by some curious chance, not because she belonged there."
"So you're going on trusting her?" was King's abstract of these reflections. He scanned her closely.
She nodded. "Until I have stronger proof to the contrary than your looking into a pair of beautiful eyes. Have you never observed, my friend, how many pairs of beautiful eyes there are in the world?"
He shook his head. "I haven't bothered much about them, except now and then for a bit of nonsense making."
"But this pair you, too, are going to go on trusting?"