“Where?”
“Oh, I don’t know—in fact, I believe it is a resemblance to some one I know that makes me feel that way.”
“I look like some one you know?”
“Well, yes, you do—a little—a lady who is a little older than you—a little more of a brunette than you; yet there is a likeness.”
“Where does she live—and what is her name?” she asked, with scant ceremony.
“I don’t suppose her name would tell you much,” he answered. “But it is Miss Margaret Haydon, of Philadelphia.”
“Miss Margaret Haydon,” she said slowly, almost contemptuously. “So you know her?”
“You speak as though you did,” he answered; “and as if you did not like the name, either.”
“But you think it’s pretty,” she said, looking at him sharply. “No, I don’t know such swells—don’t want to.” 56
“How do you know she is a swell?”