"I'm afraid you won't be much interested in me," she replied, "but I need a friend—indeed I need a friend, Miss Louise!"
"I'm sure you do."
"At first I thought I could do without one. I felt I must stand alone, and let no one suspect. But—I'm getting puzzled and bewildered, and I don't know what to do next."
"Of course not. Tell me about it, dear."
"I can't; for I don't know, myself." She leaned forward in her chair and added, in a whisper: "I don't even know who I am! But that man," with a shudder, "tried to trap me. He said he knew Eliza Parsons, and there is no Eliza Parsons. It's a name I—I invented."
"I think I understand," said Louise, with a little nod. "You had to have a name, so you took that one."
"Yes. I don't know why I am telling you this. I've tried to hide it all so carefully. And perhaps I'm wrong in letting this thing worry me. In the main, I've been very happy and content, lately; and—I have a feeling I was not happy before—before—"
"Before what, dear?"
The girl looked at her steadily and her face grew red.
"Before I lost my memory."