"Mathilde," he repeated in a lower tone, and his eyes shone
extraordinarily.

Both of them took some time to recover from the intensity of this moment.
She wanted to ask him his, but foreseeing that she would immediately be
required to use it, and feeling unequal to such an adventure, she decided
it would be wiser to wait. It was he who presently went on:

"Isn't it strange to know so little about each other? I rather like
it. It's so mad--like opening a chest of buried treasure. You don't
know what's going to be in it, but you know it's certain to be rare
and desirable. What do you do, Mathilde? Live here with your father
and mother?"

She sat looking at him. The truth was that she found everything he said
so unexpected and thrilling that now and then she lost all sense of being
expected to answer.

"Oh, yes," she said, suddenly remembering. "I live here with my mother
and stepfather. My mother has married again. She is Mrs. Vincent Farron."

"Didn't I tell you life played strange tricks?" he exclaimed. He sprang
up, and took a position on the hearth-rug. "I know all about him. I once
reported on the Electric Equipment Company. That's the same Farron, isn't
it? I believe that that company is the most efficient for its size in
this country, in the world, perhaps. And Farron is your stepfather! He
must be a wonder."

"Yes, I think he is."