She repeated the name aloud. "Haven't I heard of you? Aren't you engaged to Alice Carstairs?"
"I'm the man you mean," he said quietly; "but I'm not engaged to Alice Carstairs."
"Oh...." Perplexity clouded the eyes that followed closely his every movement. "How did you happen to—to find me here?"
"Quite by accident," he replied. "I didn't want to be known, so registered as Hugh Morten. They mistook me for your husband. Do you mind telling me how long it is since you've had anything to eat?"
She told him: "Last night."
He suffered a sense of shame only second to her own, to see the dull flush that accompanied her reply. His fingers itched for the throat of Mr. C. W. Morton, chauffeur. Happily a knock at the door distracted him. Opening it no wider than necessary to communicate with the bell-boy, he gave him an order for the kitchen, together with an incentive to speed the service.
Closing the door, he swung round to find that the girl had got to her feet.
"He won't be long—" Whitaker began vaguely.
"I want to tell you something." She faced him bravely, though he refused the challenge of her tormented eyes. "I ... I have no husband."
He bowed gravely.