"Well, of all the--" muttered Woods, looking into the other's face
penetratingly. "I never heard of anything like it. My name is McLane
Woods, and the man who looks like you is Hugh Ridgeway of Chicago.
I--I'll be hanged if it isn't too strange to be true."

"Very strange, indeed," smiled Hugh, striving to maintain the expression
he had assumed at the beginning--a very difficult task.

"But this isn't all. At Newburg, I boarded the train, and happening to
go through, I saw some one that I could have sworn was a Miss Vernon,
whom I met when visiting Ridgeway in Chicago. I started to speak to her;
but she gave me such a frigid stare that I sailed by, convinced that I
was mistaken. Two such likenesses in one day beats my time. Doesn't seem
possible, by George! it doesn't," exclaimed the puzzled New Yorker, his
eyes glued to the countenance of the man before him, who, by the way,
had almost betrayed himself at the mention of Miss Vernon's name. A
thrill of admiration ran through him when Woods announced his reception
by the clever girl who was running away with him.

"I'll do my best to meet this Mr. Ridgeway. I am frequently in Chicago,"
said he. "Glad to have met you, Mr. Woods, anyhow. If you are ever in
Baltimore, hunt me up. I am in the E--- Building."

"With pleasure, doctor; how long will you be in New York?"

"I am going away to-morrow."

"Won't you come with me to my club?" began Woods, but Hugh interrupted
by beckoning to the omnipresent porter.