"I am not aware to whom I have the honor of speaking," he said frigidly. "Perhaps you will oblige me with your name?"
"My name doesn't in the least matter," she replied calmly—"though I will tell you afterward if you wish. But you don't seem to understand I…I am 'Tiger-Lily'!"
The situation was becoming ludicrous. Villiers felt strongly disposed to laugh.
"I'm afraid I am very ignorant!"—he said, with a humorous sparkle in his blue eyes,—"But really I am quite in the dark as to your meaning. Will you explain?"
The lady's nose grew deeper of tint, and the look she shot at him had quite a killing vindictiveness. With evident difficulty she forced a smile.
"Oh, you MUST have heard of me!"—she declared, with a ponderous attempt at playfulness—"You read the papers, don't you?"
"Some of them," returned Villiers cautiously—"Not all. Not the Sunday ones, for instance."
"Still, you can't possibly have helped seeing my descriptions of famous people 'At Home,' you know! I write for ever so many journals. I think"—and she became complacently reflective—"I think I may say with perfect truth that I have interviewed everybody who has ever done anything worth noting, from our biggest provision dealer to our latest sensational novelist! And all my articles are signed 'Tiger-Lily.' NOW do you remember? Oh, you MUST remember? … I am so VERY well known!"
There was a touch of genuine anxiety in her voice that was almost pathetic, but Villiers made no attempt to soothe her wounded vanity.
"I have no recollection whatever of the name," he said bluntly—"But that is easily accounted for, as I never read newspaper descriptions of celebrities. So you are an 'interviewer' for the Press?"