Meanwhile Juliet was putting her first question to her companion.
“Please—why am I Clare Lawson?”
His face fell. Amusement gave place to embarrassment. “Do you object? I’m sorry to have sprung it upon you so suddenly, but—well, you had to have some name, hadn’t you? I suppose one is as good as another.”
“Perhaps so, but it’s just a trifle confusing, because—” Juliet drew herself up on the verge of an incriminating confession. “As you say, it doesn’t really matter, but I am naturally interested. Who is Clare Lawson?”
“Er—as a matter of fact, there is no such person. I invented a fictitious girl, then, suddenly, was called upon for her name, so had to christen her on the spur of the moment. Clare happened to be the name of the heroine in a novel I’d just finished reading, and Lawson was the first surname which came to my mind. It’s not such a bad name, is it?”
Juliet made an expressive little grimace.
“Considered as an artistic effort, I can’t say much for it. You might have done so much better. Clare! I’m not a bit like a Clare. And who is Clare supposed to be?”
He looked at her with a keen, comprehensive glance. Juliet had an impression that what he saw increased his embarrassment, from the very reason of his admiration. What he had to say would evidently have been easier if she had been less attractive, had not so obviously belonged to his own class. The flush mounted once more to his cheeks.
“Miss Lawson, I should like to begin with a word of self-defence. I have the reputation of being straight in my dealings and I think I may say that it is deserved, yet at this moment, owing to an—impulse, to—er—the folly of a moment, I find myself stranded, implicated—how shall I express it? I’m in the dickens of a hole, anyway, and for the moment can’t imagine how I am ever to get out.”
“And if you only knew it, so am I!” was Juliet’s mental reflection. Aloud, she said sententiously, “Such things do happen. I’ve heard of them. Please tell me about it. Perhaps I can help.”