“Your gaze on that garden seems very intent, Mr. Holt,” she said, with a bewildering smile. “Are you looking for something?”
“Well, perhaps,” I responded, with a smile. “You see, I am always on the look-out—for your double.”
“My double! Have I a double? How delightful!” she cried.
“Yes,” I said gravely, turning once more to the garden; “a double—someone so exactly like you that it is very difficult to distinguish you. I should like to find her—that other one. But I have had no luck, none at all.”
“Are you so very anxious to find her?” Kitty asked, bringing that smile once more to bear as she saw that my eyes were turned again in her direction.
“At this moment, none at all,” I responded lightly. “I find my present company fully adequate.”
“Is it that I make an efficient substitute? How very sweet of you to say so,” Kitty murmured, with a quick glance downward as if at the slender toe of an exceptionally pretty shoe.
“No, I do not remember saying that,” I replied. “You see, you are you and she is she—”
“‘And never the twain shall meet’—isn’t that Kipling?” Kitty demanded.
“I think it may be quite safely asserted,” I said, with grim meaning, “that you will never meet your double.”