Cable. In Montreal we were honored with a reception. It began at two in
the afternoon in a long drawing-room in the Windsor Hotel. Mr. Cable and
I stood at one end of this room, and the ladies and gentlemen entered it
at the other end, crossed it at that end, then came up the long left-hand
side, shook hands with us, said a word or two, and passed on, in the
usual way. My sight is of the telescopic sort, and I presently
recognized a familiar face among the throng of strangers drifting in at
the distant door, and I said to myself, with surprise and high
gratification, "That is Mrs. R.; I had forgotten that she was a
Canadian." She had been a great friend of mine in Carson City, Nevada,
in the early days. I had not seen her or heard of her for twenty years;
I had not been thinking about her; there was nothing to suggest her to
me, nothing to bring her to my mind; in fact, to me she had long ago
ceased to exist, and had disappeared from my consciousness. But I knew
her instantly; and I saw her so clearly that I was able to note some of
the particulars of her dress, and did note them, and they remained
in my mind. I was impatient for her to come. In the midst of the
hand-shakings I snatched glimpses of her and noted her progress with the
slow-moving file across the end of the room; then I saw her start up the
side, and this gave me a full front view of her face. I saw her last
when she was within twenty-five feet of me. For an hour I kept thinking
she must still be in the room somewhere and would come at last, but I was
disappointed.

When I arrived in the lecture-hall that evening some one said: "Come into
the waiting-room; there's a friend of yours there who wants to see you.
You'll not be introduced--you are to do the recognizing without help if
you can."

I said to myself: "It is Mrs. R.; I shan't have any trouble."