As I approached her I had something to say, but it was, for an interval,
driven from my lips.
"Promise me," I said instead, "never to wear a common-sense shoe."
She stared at me with brows a trifle raised.
"Of course it will displease Mrs. Eubanks, but there is still a better
reason for it."
The brows went farther up at this until they were hardly to be detected
under the broad rim of her garden hat.
Her answer was icy, even for an "Indeed?"--quite in her best Lansdale
manner.
"Yes, 'indeed!'" I retorted somewhat rudely, "but never mind--it's not
of the least consequence. What I meant to say was this--about those
pictures of people, you remember."
"I remember perfectly, and I've concluded that it's all nonsense--all of
it, you understand."
"That's queer--so have I." Had I been a third person and an observer, I
would doubtless have sworn that Miss Lansdale was more surprised than
pleased by this remark of mine.
"I haven't had your picture at all," I went on; "it was a picture of
some one else, and I hadn't thought to look at it for a long time--had
forgotten it utterly, in fact. That's how I came to think I knew your
face before I knew you."
"I told you it was nonsense!" and she snipped off a rose with a kind of
miniature brusqueness.
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