"Nothing--I suppose you must have had a good time with her in the convent, if she was such a friend of yours."
"Are you going to tell me why you asked those questions?"
"I am; then I think you will be sorry you have taken up such a tone towards me. I asked those questions because the person whom you saw strike George Emmett informed the waiter that his name was Gilbert."
"Gilbert!--Mr Frazer! But--I heard the waiter tell Mr Emmett that the gentleman wouldn't give his name."
"What seems to have occurred is this. Someone came to one of the coffee-room waiters and told him that he wished to see Mr George Emmett. The waiter asked him his name; he said 'Gilbert'; then immediately added: 'Never mind my name; you need mention no name; give him this.' He scribbled a line or two on a sheet of paper, in pencil; put the sheet into an envelope, which he fastened, and gave to the waiter. So it came about that the waiter who delivered the note supposed the stranger to have given no name; while the original waiter is prepared to swear that, in the first instance, he said his name was Gilbert--which is why I asked if you had seen him, or anyone at all like him, before."
"But I haven't--ever! Who can he be? I haven't any relatives."
"Your acquaintance with your family history seems to be so nebulous that I scarcely see how you can say that of your own knowledge. Do you remember what your father looked like?"
"Only very dimly."
"Try your hand at a description."
"I seem to remember him as very tall, and dark, and----" She stopped; the fashion of her countenance was changed, as if by a sudden access of fear; then, as if because she realised how closely he was watching her, she broke into what seemed to be a fit of pettish temper. "But what does it matter what he looked like? What does it matter? My father is dead."