“Yes, I’m Camilla Maurice.”
“Quite so! You see, Ichabod and I were old chums together in college––all that sort of thing; consequently I’ve always wanted to meet––”
The woman stood up. Her face still was very white, but her chin did not tremble now.
“Let’s stop this farce,” she insisted. “What is it you wish?” 156
The man in the buggy again made a motion of deprecation.
“I was just about to say, that happening to be in town, and incidentally hearing the name, I wondered if it were possible.... But, pardon, I haven’t introduced myself. Allow me––” and he bowed elaborately. “Arnold, Asa Arnold.... You’ve heard Ichabod mention my name, perhaps?”
The woman held up her hand.
“Again I ask, what do you wish?”
“Since you insist, first of all I’d like to speak a moment with Ichabod.” His face changed suddenly. “For Heaven’s sake, Eleanor, if he must alter his name, why did he choose such a barbaric substitute as Ichabod?”
“Were he here”––evenly––“he’d doubtless explain that himself.”