“Yes.”
Her voice again sank to a whisper. “Your name is not Wheeler.”
Brandon looked at her earnestly. “How did you learn that?”
“By nothing more than observation.”
“What is my name?”
“Ah, that is beyond my power to know,” said she with a smile. “I have only discovered what you are not. Now you will not think me a spy, will you?” she continued, in a pleading voice.
Brandon smiled on her mournfully as she stood looking at him with her dark eyes upraised.
“A spy!” he repeated. “To me it is the sweetest thought conceivable that you could take the trouble to notice me sufficiently.” He checked himself suddenly, for Beatrice looked away, and her hands which had been folded together clutched each other nervously. “It is always flattering for a gentleman to be the object of a lady’s notice,” he concluded, in a light tone.
Beatrice smiled. “But where,” he continued, “could you have gained that power of divination which you possess; you who have always lived a secluded life in so remote a place?”
“You did not think that one like me could come out of Hong-Kong, did you?” said she, laughingly.