She asked the question with some pretty pretence of indifference which did not deceive him for an instant. It is better, he thought, that I should tell her, and so he said, without any affectation whatever:
"I am quite wrong, of course; but when I thought the matter over I remembered that a young actress, who made a great sensation at the Carlton Theatre in May, might have been named for your own sister. That is what gave me the idea that I had seen you before."
"How strange! Do you also remember the lady's name?"
"Perfectly. All London went mad over her. She called herself Etta Romney, and the play showed just such a house as this. It was the old story of Di Vernon retold, Lady Evelyn."
"You were much taken with the play, it appears?"
"Not with the play at all. But I thought Etta Romney one of the cleverest women I have ever seen on the stage."
"Is she playing still, may I ask?"
"You know that she is not, Lady Evelyn."
"I know it—are you serious?"
"So serious that I shall forget the subject until you choose to speak of it again."