‘Was he, do you think, Miss Sinnet, a little uncertain, perhaps?’
‘Never mind, never mind; let me get on with my story first. The next thing my gentleman does is more mysterious still. His whole manner was a little peculiar, perhaps—a certain restlessness, what, in fact, one might be almost tempted to call a certain furtiveness of behaviour. Never mind. What he does next is to ask me a riddle! Perhaps you won’t think that was peculiar either?’
‘What was the riddle?’ smiled Lawford.
‘Why, to be sure, to guess his name! Simply guided, so I surmised, by some very faint resemblance in his face to his mother, who was, he assured me, an old schoolfellow of mine at Brighton. I thought and thought. I confess the adventure was beginning to be a little perplexing. But of course, very, very few of my old schoolfellows remain distinctly in my memory now; and I fear that grows more treacherous the longer I live. Their faces as girls are clear enough. But later in life most of them drifted out of sight—many, alas, are dead; and, well, at last I narrowed my man down to one. And who now, do you suppose that was?’
Lawford sustained an expression of abysmal mystification. ‘Do tell me—who?’
‘Your own poor dear mother, Mr Lawford.’
‘He said so?’
‘No, no,’ said the old lady, with some vexation, closing her eyes. ‘I said so. He asked me to guess. And I guessed Mary Lawford; now do you see?’
‘Yes, yes. But was he like her, Miss Sinnet? That was really very, very extraordinary. Did you see any likeness in his face?’
Miss Sinnet very deliberately took her spectacles out of their case again. ‘Now, see here, sir; this is being practical, isn’t it? I’m just going to take a leisurely glance at yours. But you mustn’t let me forget the time. You must look after the time for me.’