"Confess!" said Conrad.
"I remember you perfectly," she insisted with transparent hypocrisy, "but just for the moment I'm fogged where it was we met."
"Will it help me if I mention Normandy?"
"Normandy?" she echoed vaguely.
"Rouen—the Hôtel Britannique—a boy who was called 'Con.'"
"Con?" she cried. And the smile had things all its own way with her; for an instant the spirit of his youth flashed so close that he nearly captured it. "You are 'Con?'"
"Still," he affirmed earnestly. "And you are still—Mrs. Adaile."
"You are Con," she repeated, wondering, "that boy! And did you remember me directly you saw me last night?"
"No—I've remembered you all the time."
"Ah," she laughed reproval, "what a long while ago that makes it seem!—the boy never told me pretty falsehoods."