The inference was that Mrs. Westangle's place was on the Sound; and that
was all Verrian knew about it till he got her little note. Mrs.
Westangle knew how to write in a formless hand, but she did not know how
to spell, and she had thought it best to have a secretary who could write
well and spell correctly. Though, as far as literacy was concerned, she
was such an almost incomparably ignorant woman, she had all the knowledge
the best society wants, or, if she found herself out of any, she went and
bought some; she was able to buy almost anything.

Verrian thanked the secretary for remembering him, in the belief that he
was directly thanking Mrs. Westangle, whose widespread consciousness his
happiness in accepting did not immediately reach; and in the very large
house party, which he duly joined under her roof, he was aware of losing
distinctiveness almost to the point of losing identity. This did not
quite happen on the way to Belford, for, when he went to take his seat in
the drawing-room car, a girl in the chair fronting him put out her hand
with the laugh of Miss Macroyd.

"She did remember you!" she cried out. "How delightful! I don't see how
she ever got onto you"--she made the slang her own--"in the first place,
and she must have worked hard to be sure of you since."

Verrian hung up his coat and put his suit-case behind his chair, the
porter having put it where he could not wheel himself vis-a-vis with the
girl. "She took all the time there was," he answered. "I got my
invitation only the day before yesterday, and if I had been in more
demand, or had a worse conscience--"

"Oh, do say worse conscience! It's so much more interesting," the girl