Then she rallied.
“Sir!” she said, with a haughty uplifting of her proud head.
“Madame!”
“I do not understand you.”
“Did you not? Shall I repeat my question?” was the quiet query.
She made a gesture of impatience.
“You have made a mistake,” the lady returned, but her eyes were searching the druggist’s face with a lightning glance, while that deadly paleness again overspread her own.
“Nay, madame,” was the bland rejoinder; “I am one of the few men in the world who never forget either a face or a name! Mrs. Marston, surely you have not forgotten Doctor Thomas Turner who waited upon you at the —— House one bitter night in the winter of 18—.”
CHAPTER XXXI.
A RETROSPECTIVE GLANCE.
It was indeed Doctor Turner, although twenty years or more had changed him greatly.