"Valerie!" I cried in exultation.
She half rose. "What right have you to address me?"
"I am Harold Winter," said I, taken aback by her outraged demeanour. "Is it possible that you don't recognize me?"
"I have never seen or heard of you before in my life," replied the young lady tartly, "and I hope you won't force me to take measures to protect myself against your impertinence."
I lay back against the cushions, gasping with dismay.
"I beg your pardon," said I, recovering; "I am neither going to molest you nor be intentionally impertinent. But, as your face has never been out of my mind for three months, and as I am travelling straight through from Vienna to Grandchester to see it for the first time, I may be excused for addressing you."
She glanced hurriedly at the communication-cord and then back at me, as if I were a lunatic.
"You are Miss Deane of Grandchester—daughter of Dr. Deane?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Valerie Deane, then?"