“Coincidence!” I exclaimed, starting up, as a sudden thought was forced upon my mind, and my heart began to beat violently, “this is more than a coincidence; and yet—it cannot be—pooh! impossible! ridiculous! My mind is wandering.”
I sank back somewhat exhausted, for I had been considerably weakened by my accident. Edith was greatly alarmed at my words and looks, and blamed herself for having talked too much to me in my comparatively weak condition.
“No, you have not talked too much to me. You cannot do that, dear Edie,” I said.
It was now her turn to look bewildered.
“Edie!” she echoed. “Why—why do you call me Edie?”
I covered my eyes with my hand, that she might not see their expression.
“There can be no doubt now,” I thought; “but why that name of Blythe?” Then aloud:
“It is a pretty contraction for Edith, is it not? Don’t you like it?”
“Like it? Yes. Oh, how much! But—but—”
“Well, Edie,” I said, laying powerful restraint on myself, and looking her calmly in the face, “you must bear with me to-night. You know that weakness sometimes causes men to act unaccountably. Forgive me for interrupting you. I won’t do it again, as the naughty boys say.—Go on, dear, with your story.”