The lady started and looked up quickly, the color on her cheek deepening a trifle at his query.
“I did not know that I spoke at all,” she replied, with a brilliant smile, which revealed two rows of white, handsome teeth, every one of them her own.
“I beg your pardon,” said the druggist, with a bow and a backward step, as if to beat a retreat again.
Madame made a motion with her faultlessly gloved hand to detain him.
“I was looking for the name of August Damon,” she said, her eyes wandering again to the directory; “but I do not find it there.”
“Ah! some one whose residence you wished to find in the city?” the gentleman remarked.
“Yes. I imagined I should find him here,” said the lady, thoughtfully.
The druggist drew the book toward him, ran his eyes through the names under the D’s.
“The name is not here,” he said at last, as he raised his glance and fixed it with keen scrutiny upon that beautiful face before him.
Madame tapped her foot impatiently and somewhat nervously on the floor.