"What?"

"Answer my question. Is your name Mavis Keeves: Mavis Weston Keeves
in full?"

"You know it isn't. That woman told you what it was."

"She didn't tell you my name, and I thought she might have done the
same by you. And when I saw that expression in your face--"

"Who is Mavis Keeves?"

"A little girl I knew when I was a kid. She'd hair and eyes like
yours, and when I saw you then--but you haven't answered my
question. Is your name Mavis Weston Keeves?"

Mavis had decided what to reply if further directly questioned.

"No, it isn't," she answered.

"Confound! I might have known. It's much too good to be true."

While Mavis was tortured with self-reproach at having told a lie,
soup, in gilt cups, was set before Windebank and Mavis, the latter
of whom was more than ever resolved to accept no hospitality from
the man who appeared sincerely anxious to befriend her. The fact of
her having told him a lie seemed, in the eyes of her morbidly active
conscience, to put her under an obligation to him, an indebtedness
that she was in no mind to increase. She folded her hands on the