“I once had the pleasure of Mr. Carden’s acquaintance,” said Millicent stiffly, “but now——”
“Mr. Carden!” ejaculated Anne. And a light dawned upon her, a light of painful significance.
“I was not aware he was in the house,” said Millicent coldly. “I was not aware that you knew him.”
Then Peter spoke. “As Peter Carden Lady Anne does not know me,” he said steadily, though his face was white. “She knows me only as Peter the vagabond Piper.”
“An alias,” said Millicent scornfully. “One, no doubt, of several.”
Anne was waiting, silent. Peter had a sudden thought that she was waiting for him to speak, to deny the accusation if he could. He felt utterly and entirely weary.
“Oh no!” he said bitterly; “only one other—Robin Adair.”
“Oh!” said Anne, shrinking as if the name had been a blow.
“It really does not signify what you choose to call yourself,” said Millicent. “But I do not care that my friends should be deceived.”
Peter drew in his breath sharply. He looked straight at her, and in her eyes he could read the true cause for her anger. “You are right,” he said quietly. “And I have deceived her.” He turned to Anne. Her head was erect, her face white, motionless. Indignation, anger, contempt, he saw all three in her eyes.