“There must be some mistake,” said the visitor.
“I saw Mr. Carter on Broadway, near Twentieth Street, day before yesterday.”
“Quite a mistake, I assure you, Mrs. Vangriff,” said Mrs. Pitkin, smiling. “It was some other person. You were deceived by a fancied resemblance.”
“It is you who are wrong, Mrs. Pitkin,” said Mrs. Vangriff, positively. “I am somewhat acquainted with Mr. Carter, and I stopped to speak with him.”
“Are you sure of this?” asked Mrs. Pitkin, looking startled.
“Certainly, I am sure of it.”
“Did you call him by name?”
“Certainly; and even inquired after you. He answered that he believed you were well. I thought he was living with you?”
“So he was,” answered Mrs. Pitkin coolly as possible, considering the startling nature of the information she had received. “Probably Uncle Oliver returned sooner than he anticipated, and was merely passing through the city. He has important business interests at the West.”
“I don't think he was merely passing through the city, for a friend of mine saw him at the Fifth Avenue Theater last evening.”