“Have you any reason why you should wish to conceal your name?” She shook her head. “Then tell me what it is.”
“But I don’t know. Have I a name?”
“I presume that, with the rest of the world, you have. Pray do not suppose, however, that I wish to force myself into your confidence. I would only suggest that I think it might be better, for both our sakes, if you could give me some idea of where you came from before you entered my room.”
“Did I enter your room? Oh yes, I remember; but—I don’t remember anything more.” She put her hand up to her head with the gesture which had previously struck me. “Where did I come from?”
“I don’t know if you are intentionally trifling, but if you are unable to supply the information, I certainly cannot.”
Something in my manner seemed to occasion her distress. She moved towards me anxiously, like a timid child who stands in fear of admonition.
“Why do you look like that? Are you angry?”
I knew not what to think or what to feel; but, at least, I was not angry. If she was playing a part, which I for one was disposed to doubt, she acted with such plausibility that I was conscious of my incapacity to discover in what the trick consisted. I perceived that, after all, this was a case for Mrs. Peddar.
“The housekeeper is a most superior person—a Mrs. Peddar. She will be of more assistance to you than I can be. Will you allow me to tell her that you are here?”
“Why not? Of course you can tell her—if you like.”