“You don't mean to say you are Susan's age?”
“How old did you think I was?” she asked.
“Older than Susan,” he said surveying her.
“No, I'm a mere child, I'm nineteen.”
“But I thought—” he began, and paused and lighted another cigarette.
Her eyes lighted mischievously.
“You thought that I had been out several years, and that I'd seen a good deal of the world, and that I lived in New York, and that it was strange you didn't know me. But New York is such an enormous place I suppose one can't know everybody there.”
“And—where do you come from, if I may ask?” he said.
“St. Louis. I was brought to this country before I was two years old, from France. Mrs. Holt brought me. And I have never been out of St. Louis since, except to go to Sutcliffe. There you have my history. Mrs. Holt would probably have told it to you, if I hadn't.”
“And Mrs. Holt brought you to this country?”