“Women don’t swear. I wasn’t. I haven’t been out of the flat all day. Go into the bedroom, if you don’t believe me. Look at my shoes—all in nice shiny rows. Look at my gowns, all tidily on the pegs. By the way, what did she wear?”
“Brown,” he returned mechanically.
“Pooh! We’ll come to her later on. I mean the other—the one you mistook for me.”
“You wore a violet kind of thing, with black stuff sewn on it,” he persisted. “There were violet feathers in your hat. They nodded at me like imps when you got up and slipped away. By Jove! I won’t be fooled like this——”
“Don’t be absurd. Did you ever see me in violet? Think.”
The dress had only come from the tailor’s that morning. She watched him triumphantly.
“Perhaps not—but I never notice what you wear.”
“You never do,” she made answer sadly; and then she jumped up, again meaning to kiss him, but he angrily waved her back.
“It was a very curious thing,” she said steadily, and smiling into his angry, infuriated face. “It’s rather dree to know one has a double. I hope you’re convinced now. If not, go into the next room. See if you can find a violet gown. Shall we go together and hunt?”
“You’ll swear you weren’t there?”