“Oh, indeed,” rather resenting the words, and already regretful of her compliance. “Surely I have as much reason to trust my informant as I have you. He, at least, has proven himself a friend.”
“I wish I could feel as fully assured of that as you do,” he returned honestly. “I would then have every temptation to meddle further taken away from me. Do you realize that my interest is very largely upon your account?”
“Oh, no,” laughing, “I couldn't believe that. I—I have heard it whispered it might be because of the other girl.”
“The other girl!” in complete surprise at this swift return.
“Yes, sir,” conscious of having attained the upper hand. “Miss Hope Waite.”
“Some more of Mr. Hawley's fancies,” he retorted, perplexed that so much should be suspected. “Have you seen her?”
“Why, of course. I am a woman, Mr. Keith, with all the natural curiosity of my sex. In this case I had special reason to be interested. One does not meet her counterpart every day.”
“The resemblance between you is certainly most striking.”
“Sufficiently so,” she said slowly, her eyes on his face, “to abundantly confirm in my mind the truth of all that has been told me.”
The waiter approached with the orders, and the two remained in silence until he had deposited his load upon the table, and departed. She was watching the face opposite through lowered lashes that veiled her eyes, but Keith was first to break the stillness.