I replied to her with another question.
“Do you know any one named Lawrence?”
“Lawrence? Lawrence? I can’t remember. Is it a woman’s name?”
“No; it is not a woman’s name, it’s a man’s name. Edwin Lawrence.”
“Why do you ask? Do you know him?”
“I do; and so do you.”
“I! How do you know I know him?”
“Because, last night, it was from his room you came to mine.”
I regarded her with what quite possibly were accusatory glances; but if I expected my words to take her by surprise, or to cause her to betray signs of guilt, I was mistaken. She met my glances with serenely untroubled countenance, as if she were wondering what exactly my meaning might chance to be.
“I came to your room from his? What was I doing in his room?”