"May I ask how you came to enter this compartment?" she asked coldly.
"I jumped in,"—simply. What was to account for this strange attitude?
"So I observe. What I meant was, by what right?"
"It happened to be the only door at hand, and I was in a great hurry." Where was his usual collectedness of thought? He was embarrassed and angry at the knowledge.
"Did you follow me?" Her nostrils were palpitating and the corners of her mouth were drawn aggressively.
"Follow you?" amazed that such an idea should enter into her head. "Why, you are the last person I ever expected to see again. Indeed, you are only a fairy-story; there is, I find, no such person as Hildegarde von Heideloff." Clearly he was recovering.
"I know it,"—candidly. "It was my mother's name, and I saw fit to use it." She really hoped he hadn't followed her.
"You had no need to use it, or any name, for that matter. When I gave you my name it was given in good faith. The act did not imply that I desired to know yours."
"But you did!"—imperiously.
"Yes. Curiosity is the brain of our mental anatomy." When Max began to utter tall phrases it was a sign of even-balanced mentality.