Roger pulled at his moustache. "I hadn't an idea she was within a thousand miles of this place! But, if I had, I couldn't have imagined she would have the face to come here!"
"Who is she?" With a sudden movement Daphne turned her eyes upon him.
"Well, there's no good making any bones about it," said the man, flushing. "She's a girl I was once engaged to, for a very short time," he added hastily. "It was the week before my father died, and our smash came. As soon as it came she threw me over."
Daphne's intense gaze, under the slightly frowning brows, disquieted him.
"How long were you engaged to her?"
"Three weeks."
"Had she been staying here before that?"
"Yes—she often stayed here. Daphne! don't look like that! She treated me abominably; and before I married you I had come not to care twopence about her."
"You did care about her when you proposed to me?"
"No!—not at all! Of course, when I went out to New York I was sore, because she had thrown me over."