“Well, he’s let them think so anyway. Why has he?” demanded Trix.
“You ask a good many questions for an—er—an intruder,” remarked the man.
Trix’s chin went up. “I’m sorry. I apologize. I’ll go.”
“No, don’t,” said the man. “Sit down.”
Trix sat down near a table. She looked straight at him.
“Well,” she asked, “what do you want to say to me?”
“I am Nicholas Danver,” he said.
“I was quite sure of that,” nodded Trix. She was recovering her self-possession.
“I had an excellent reason for allowing people to imagine I was dead,” he remarked, “as excellent a one, perhaps, as yours for your—your unexpected appearance.”
“I’m glad you didn’t say ‘intrusion’ again,” said Trix thoughtfully.