It happened in one of the corridors on the second floor about noon. The Lyttons and Shirley were leaving that night. Shirley had just been downstairs to the lobby, and as there was but one easy flight of stairs with a landing midway, Shirley did not take the elevator, but ran up the stairs instead.
Between the stairway and her room were the doors to the elevator, and as she turned from the last stair down the corridor in the direction of her room, she saw herself, apparently, standing in front of the elevator door. Even the hat was of the same color as her own, and a little fluff of golden hair curled around near the place where ears were supposed to be. The coat was not like her own, however.
The young girl was laughing and talking in an animated fashion to two girls who were with her. She faced Shirley, and Shirley, now surprised and interested, took an eager step toward her. But it was quite evident that the other girl had not seen Shirley. The elevator doors slid open just then; the three girls stepped in and were out of sight in a moment.
More mechanically than otherwise, Shirley went on toward the room with something that she was bringing Mrs. Lytton. “Why, Cousin Molly, I’ve just seen my double. It’s the queerest thing. I didn’t suppose that two people of different families could look so much alike. Oh, I haven’t told you a word about how in Chicago people kept taking me for some one.” Shirley paused, rather dazed by the experience.
Mrs. Lytton looked at her rather soberly, Shirley thought. “I wonder who it could be. Why don’t you try to find out who she is? Has she a room on this floor?”
“How stupid I am, Cousin Molly! Here I stand! It would be rather interesting to know who she is, perhaps.”
Shirley flew out of the room and down the stairs. But there was no sign of the girls in the lobby. She even went to the desk and asked rather hesitatingly if the clerk had seen any one who looked like herself pass just now.
The clerk to whom she addressed the question looked at her closely. “Yes,” he said. “A young lady enough like you to be your twin came to the desk for a moment with another young lady, who left her key. Let me see. The young lady’s name was Penn, Miss Penn. She and her mother just checked out, but she came back to get something which she had forgotten or thought that she had forgotten she said. From what was said I took it that they were going to some other hotel in the city, here. If they are friends of yours, or relatives, I may be able to trace them for you.” The clerk, as he talked, noted Shirley’s hesitation. He came to the correct conclusion that she did not know the young lady who looked so much like her. Odd, he thought.
“Thank you,” said Shirley. “I will ask my cousin if it is best to find them. We are leaving in a few hours ourselves.”
But Mrs. Lytton did not think that it would be worth while to try to find the girls. “It would only be a matter of curiosity, perhaps, and neither of you would care for acquaintance, since you say that it has not made a pleasant impression to find yourself taken for some one else. And if the girl should be some distant relative, my experience is that unless there is something in common, looking up one’s relatives is not very satisfactory,—though interesting, of course, and kinship does make a bond, unless too distant. If you really want to do it, Shirley, we can remain another day. I will let you decide the matter. We might get into touch by this evening, I’ve no doubt, and perhaps you would feel better satisfied.”