He himself led her there; he started her. He brought praises of the gift.
Other people, he said, were beginning to rave about it now.
"I wish they wouldn't," said she. "It makes me feel so dishonest."
"Dishonest?"
"As if I'd taken something that didn't belong to me. It doesn't belong to me."
"What doesn't?"
"It—the gift! I feel as if it had never had anything—really—to do with me."
"Ah, that's the way to tell that you've got it."
"I know, but I don't mean that. I mean—it does belong so very much to somebody else, that I ought almost to give it back."
He had always wondered how she did it. Now for one moment he believed that she was about to clear up her little mystery. She was going to tell him that she hadn't done it at all, that somebody else had borrowed her name for some incomprehensible purpose of concealment. She was going to make an end of Freda Farrar.