when they met my blank stare, they seemed to remember all about it,
and merely murmured in strange tones:

"Good-morning, miss! So you're here: glad to see you've come back
again at last to Woodbury."

This reception dazzled me. It was so strange, so uncanny. I was glad
to get away in a fly by myself, and to be driven to lodgings in the
clean little High Street. For to me, it wasn't really "coming back"
at all: it was coming to a strange town, where everyone knew me, and
_I_ knew nobody.

"You'd like to go to Jane's, of course," the driver said to me with
a friendly nod as he reached the High Street: and not liking to
confess my forgetfulness of Jane, I responded with warmth that
Jane's would, no doubt, exactly suit me.

We drew up at the door of a neat little house. The driver rang the
bell.

"Miss Una's here," he said, confidentially; "and she's looking for
lodgings."

It was inexpressibly strange and weird to me, this one-sided
recognition, this unfamiliar familiarity: it gave me a queer thrill
of the supernatural that I can hardly express to you. But I didn't
know what to do, when a kindly-faced, middle-aged English
upper-class servant rushed out at me, open-armed, and hugging me
hard to her breast, exclaimed with many loud kisses: